


Nothing Like the Sun

by Sol1056



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, F/M, M/M, POV Quatre Raberba Winner, Post-Canon, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-04
Updated: 2004-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 104,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sol1056/pseuds/Sol1056
Summary: I've traveled the world, met fascinating people, and killed more than my share of them. Hell, I've killed more than a country's share of people. And I've been shot, stabbed, and thrown about like a snowflake in a plastic globe. I've also been one of five who saved the world. Twice. But I had traded in a pilot's suit for a business suit, and my life was planned out, to the last degree. Those frantic years of training, preparation, and the battlefield were gone. I was nineteen.





	1. Chapter 1

_"And you need to pick up cat food," the woman's voice says. It's a high-pitched voice, cultured, with a faint accent of Southern Sanq. "There's also the phone conference at two."_

_"Right, right," the man says. He taps his thumb against the steering wheel, mildly annoyed at the vehicle in front of him that seems to insist on waiting until the intersection is completely clear before taking advantage of the green light. "Hold on... since when do I have a cat? Why do I need cat food?"_

_"Just checking to make sure you're listening, Mr. Winner," the woman says, and she sounds completely deadpan. Not a hint of humor, but it's Maria, and he knows her well enough. The man rolls his eyes, and the woman on the other end of the line doesn't miss a beat. "Stop making faces at the speaker phone, Mr. Winner." There's just enough of an emphasis on his title to make him wince, as though he were five._

_"Yes, ma'am," he says dutifully. "Winner out."_

_The traffic is light, and he pulls into the service station, hopeful he'll be in and out within an hour or so._ _Inside, the air is cool, dry, the lights on but darker than the bright summer day outside. He feels the sweat that's dripped down to the small of his back, but ignores it to give the service guy a polite smile._

_"I need new tires," he says, and the boy leads him over to the stack by the wall. It startles the man to realize that he's looking at someone no more than nineteen, maybe eighteen, and yet immediately thinks of 'boy' as a definition._

_He ponders the tire selection, and his own childhood._

 

 

 

I was nineteen when I realized dying in the war would have been horrendous, but my mentor had been right. Living was far more difficult. Living in the aftermath was sometimes impossible.

Oh, it seems quite naive, looking back, but I recall distinctly the moment it dawned on me: the smell of new-mown grass, and the hot trickle of humidity pressing between my shoulder blades. My legs were sticky with sweat, tanned and scratched from the days I'd spent hiking from the house down to the river.

And I sat there, staring at the business papers piled on the garden table and thought: this is my life. This is what I have, and it's settled. Everything I have done... is done. I can't go back, and I can't change it.

The very idea entranced me, for a few minutes, that the excitement in my life was completely in the past. I've traveled the world, met fascinating people, and killed more than my share of them. Hell, I've killed more than a country's share of people. And I've been shot, stabbed, and thrown about like a snowflake in a plastic globe. I've also been one of five who saved the world. Twice.

But I had traded in a pilot's suit for a business suit, and my life was planned out, to the last degree. Those frantic years of training, preparation, and the battlefield were gone.

I was nineteen.

It started me thinking. We five were anonymous now, among the majority of the world. Oh, not like that—people knew our Gundams, dead and gone for three years. But they didn't know us; even I, the most prominent socially, still kept a low profile. I was just one more Winner kid, after all. We're pretty much everywhere, so it's not like another one is going to make much of a splash.

So no one knew who I was, but I always felt like there was a neon sign over my head, pointing downwards. Great big sign, splashy lights: Here stands Gundam Pilot Oh-Four. A neon sign only I could see or feel, casting long shadows behind me in sparkling artificial colors, Sandrock's paint job slathered across my psyche.

I remember leaning forward, my elbows digging into my knees, as I rested my chin on my clasped hands. Duo called that my thinking position, once. It still is.

I was fourteen before someone saw me as more than the Winner Scion. What a horrible title—scion. Say it out loud, fast enough, and it sounds like Zion. The mythical promised land; I was the mythical promised son. I didn't have much faith in either, after what I'd seen. Sometimes in my more jaded moments, I would lie awake at night and wonder if anyone had ever gotten to those pearly gates and said, no, thanks, I'd really rather get back to living. I don't want to sit around all day, bored, watching other people have all the fun.

Then, for two years, I'd trained, and fought, and there were four other people—and a handful more—who saw me as a fellow revolutionary. Freedom fighter. Terrorist, if you're whispering. To them, I wasn't much of the promised anything. I was one of them, but they'd gone on their own way, finding their own paths and trying out different lives for size. We kept in touch now and then, but the distance was sometimes strained. We'd shared something no one else would ever truly understand, although a few could come close. Thing was, we were reaching the point where who we were becoming was... well, it wasn't enough, to have that common past.

And so I went back to being the scion, the prince among his people. I carried my briefcase every day to work and sitting in meetings and signing paperwork and answering a hundred emails that made no difference in the end.

I was bored.

I'd tried, once or twice, to talk to people I thought might understand, but I never got very far. Rashid and the Maganacs would laugh, and hug me, and say, this is peace, this is what you wanted. Eventually I learned to be quiet, and smile, and place my hopes in the two weeks I got each summer, to stay at a rented cabin in the mountains. I brought food for two weeks, and did nothing but hike and swim and lie in the hammock.

I got up from the chair, and wandered out to the edge of the grass, where the path led off into the woods, up the mountain. Down below me, I could see the river spreading like a gleaming ribbon, and I wondered why I'd never bothered to take a raft and follow it, see where it went. The sun glittering off the river was the destruction of a Leo in space, a million shards bombarding me. I couldn't look for too long.

Two more days, and I would return to Sanq, put the suit back on, straighten the tie, and paste that smile on my face. Like my wartime friends, I wore a mask, and for fourteen days, I got to take it off and see what lay underneath. I dug my toes into the grass, and stared up at the little house, and realized that once again, I hadn't figured out if there was anything there but my three roles: the dutiful son, the determined pilot, the hardworking businessman.

That was when I began making plans.

 

 

 

Rashid nearly had a fit, but in the end, he stopped talking, as if waiting long enough would make me change my mind. He stared me down, and I stared right back at him. We'd done this plenty of times before and I'd always won. I would this time, too, but that didn't stop my stomach from flipping over several times when he finally nodded.

"Are you sure," he said, one more time, worried.

"I'm sure," I told him, and smiled, for his benefit. I imagined I looked a little ill, but I'd been over all the options. I'd weighed the different locations, I'd investigated destinations, I'd turned in my notice to my immediate supervisor and I'd made my decision.

I picked up the backpack, and slung it over my shoulder. He started to move towards the rolling suitcase, but I waved him away.

"No, I can get it," I told him, and suddenly felt like I wanted to tell him I changed my mind. I know my hands were shaking, and he stepped back, his expression stern. "I might as well get used to it," I reminded him, trying to smile.

"If you ever need us, Master Quatre," he said, that deep voice rumbling like Sandrock's verniers.

"I know, Rashid, but... " I glanced out the front window. The taxi had pulled up in the circular driveway. "I should go."

"Of course," Rashid replied, gravely.

I didn't promise to write, and I don't think he expected the offer, either.

 

 

 

"No, it's not that big," I said, for the fourth time, sighing at Duo's enthusiasm. I shifted the phone to the other ear, and rubbed the ear that had been against the phone. I was used to vidphones, where I could laze back and talk at it, rather than carry it around. But this one had been cheap, and I figured it would suffice. Even if it had seemed to leave Duo completely flabbergasted for several seconds, that I wasn't calling on a vidphone. Well, then again, maybe that experience alone made the junk phone more than worth it.

"No, really," he replied.

"Yes, really," I shot back. "It's... y'know, just right."

"Just right for a Winner means six bedrooms and two staircases," Duo teased. "On average, thirty-six cubit feet just between the bed and dresser. Not the same scale, man. My digs are just right, and my entire apartment could fit in your kitchen."

So could mine, now, I thought. I rolled my eyes, grateful he couldn't see the reaction.

He was in his third year in an engineering program on L3. It was nearly four in the morning his time, but he insisted he was up all night studying for the final in a summer jam-course. I leaned against the window in the little apartment, looking out across a tumbled gray skyline of old warehouses and skyscrapers. The campus was six blocks away, but not in the best neighborhood. I'd already scouted it out, trying to appear nonchalant as I studied the building entrances and exits against the map in my head.

"Aw, come on, Quatre," Duo coaxed. "Not even one Maganac? How are you going to do laundry?"

"I'll figure it out," I told him. "I'm sure there's directions on the bottle, right?"

Duo broke out in peals of laughter. "Yeah, yeah, only you would read 'em."

"What would you know? You wear black twenty-four-seven."

"Covers the dirt, man, less trekking to the Laundromat!"

I shifted the phone to the other ear and got back to unpacking. The previous tenant had left a number of crates, and I'd bought my bed from someone down the hall who was moving out. Shirts in one crate; jeans in another, stacked up like cheap shelves. I set the bed sheets out on the mattress resting on the floor, and wandered into the four-foot area that served as a kitchen.

A miniscule sink, a two-eye stove I'd not yet figured out how to turn on, and a fridge under the cabinets. My favorite mug sat on the shelf, and I ran a finger along its edge before leaning a hip against the countertop, listening to Duo carry on about the advanced spatial engineering professor driving him mad.

"Bastard seems to think reversing the jets at atmosphere edge would cause a ship to implode. Hell, I bounced off plenty of satellites," Duo grumbled. "Best way to rev up, y'know?"

"Yeah," I said, laughing. "Well, when you're a world famous engineer... "

"World-famous," Duo repeated, then laughed. "I like the sound of that, but I'll settle for colony-famous. Not sure I want a bunch of dirtsiders worshipping my ass."

"There have been worse religions than Duo-worship, I'm sure," I teased.

"Anything involving celibacy is right out," Duo insisted. "Speaking of which... " I braced myself, and he chuckled, as though he could tell, but that didn't stop him. "Met anyone?"

"Like who? My landlady?" It took six steps and I was at the window again. My electricity would be on the next day, and I could plug in my laptop and set up my small workspace. I figured by the window would be nice. Which was really rather ridiculous, given how small the place was. The entire room was pretty much 'by the window.' "I met a guy down the hallway. He was cool."

"Really," Duo prompted.

"He sold me his bed," I replied, deadpan. "And then he packed up the rest of his stuff and left."

Duo snorted. "Well, you can do the social thing better than the rest of us. Shouldn't be a problem for you."

"Yeah," I agreed, though I didn't feel like it. I felt like... I felt like... I wanted to say something, to see if Duo could help explain it, but something held me back. It was as if he was already there. He could wave to me from his side, but I had to get there on my own. I sighed, and just barely managed to keep from sighing into the phone mike. I spoke quickly to cover the sound. "Talked to anyone else?"

"Tro, last month," Duo said, switching topics easily, and apparently not too suspicious about it, to my relief. "Cathy's managing the circus, now. They were here for a few days." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "I'm going to be eighty and doddering and that woman is still going to be giving me the evil eye."

"She's just protective," I protested. "She's not a bad—"

"I know that, I know!" Duo's grin was audible. "Just don't see how Trowa puts up with it, but he seems to even like it. She's a head shorter than him and orders him around and—"

"Naw, that's just sisters," I told him. "They do that."

"Do they." Duo was quiet for a minute. His voice turned serious, but I could tell he had to have that impish look in his eyes that indicated he was teasing. "That would explain a great deal about Hilde."

"She giving you trouble again?" I fiddled with the edge of the top crate.

"Came to visit last week. Duo, eat more! You're too skinny! Duo, sleep more, you stay up all night and it's not healthy!" He pretended to whine, but it resolved into laughter. "Nag, nag, nag. Her heart's in the right place, but... women, y'know?"

"Yeah." It went unsaid that Hilde probably still felt a bit left-behind, even though it had been two years since Duo started school. Thinking of Hilde reminded me. "Oh, Rel told me to tell you hey."

"How's the princess?"

"Busy." I shrugged. "Saw her last month. She keeps taking on more stuff, but she's doing all right. Dorothy keeps her on the straight and narrow."

He made a disgusted sound. "It's a little creepy, those two, joined at the hip."

"Uh... " I knew I was blushing, and I rolled my eyes at myself. "They're not like that, Duo. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"If they were, I'd be inviting myself to Sanq more often!" Duo cracked up, and I couldn't help but join in. He always was infectious. "Aw, come'on, Quatre, I know you're not like that, but hell, I'd make nice with an English major if it'd get me some action. Even a  _philosophy_  major!"

"Still no math majors?"

Duo snorted. "I haven't sunk that low."

"What happened to Jake?" I studied the window, and wondered if I should put up a curtain. I pressed my forehead to the glass and looked out at the fire escape. Maybe that would be a good place on hot days. I wasn't sure; I'd never been on a fire escape before. I prodded the lock on the window, idly.

"Doing a year's internship on L1 with some bigshot company. Figured we'd make a clean break." Duo sounded utterly nonchalant, but with that extra note that let me know he wasn't faking. He really didn't care, but I guessed if it was fine with him, there was no reason for me to worry and pull a Hilde on him.

"Yeah," I said, not sure what else to say. "Well, I guess I should let you go—"

"Why? We haven't even gotten to the layout of your bathroom! I want to hear all about the digs!"

"But this is way late for you," I protested, a little feebly. "And it's really expensive—"

"I saved up all my scholarship pennies for this call," Duo chided. "Another fifteen minutes. Or is your bathroom too big for you to describe it accurately in fifteen minutes?"

I knew he was teasing, but still. Part of me wanted to shout, yes, my bathroom makes Sandrock's cockpit look roomy! It's a toilet and a shower stall, stuck in a closet. I'll be using the kitchen sink to brush my teeth and shave!

Another part of me wanted to pretend, to just lie and tell Duo what he wanted to hear: that I was fine, doing the rich boy thing. That... I don't know. I couldn't figure it out. He always seemed leery, distant, at the signs of my family's wealth, like he thought it might bite. But the idea of me being... just... normal... I guess the day he found out I inherited, any chances of me being normal were pretty much blown out of the water. I won't be. I'll always be... I sighed, and stared down at my student ID application form, resting on the backpack along with the carefully marked map and class schedule.

"Hey, Duo," I said, realizing a minute of silence had passed.

"Hey, Quatre," he whispered back, puzzled. Maybe even a little hurt, from the silence.

"What... " I recalled what he'd said about names not being important. I tried to remember that laugh, that casual shrug he'd given. "What do you think would be a good nickname for me?"

"A... " For once, Duo seemed caught completely off-guard. "You mean... like a moniker, or something? I'd say Quatre the Blond, but you'd probably kick my ass next time we meet."

"Twice," I retorted, dryly. There was another thing he didn't know; even Rashid didn't know. I toed the backpack, and heard the thump of the box at the bottom, and smiled to myself. Liquid courage, and liquid lies. "But... just something... y'know, a name."

"Oh."

I knew Duo was nodding, in that pensive way he gets when he's contemplating something he considers serious. Usually that category is limited to significant engineering equations, the insanity of Yuy and Chang being Preventers, and his next move in poker.

"Hunh," he said. "I'd go with... Cat, maybe."

I nearly choked. "Like Trowa's sister?"

"What?" Duo sounded indignant. "She's Cathy! Not the same, man. Besides, you're perky but you're hardly a harrigan. Or a drill sergeant. Though that last one's debatable," he added thoughtfully.

"Thanks." I shook my head. "You're no help."

"Pay for the best, you get it," he retorted cheerfully. "Send me pictures of the place, then."

"I don't have a camera."

"No camera," Duo repeated, surprised. "Whoa, man, how am I supposed to admire the view?"

I looked around at my meager pile of belongings, and decided absently that the benefit to having few possessions would be having less to straighten up. I still wasn't sure how to use the stove, but maybe I could ask a neighbor. I didn't think I wanted to ask Duo. That risked him announcing he'd jack with Sweepers down to dirtside just to introduce me to How To Do Life Like Other People. He'd figured it out on his own, I was certain. I could do it, too.

"Not much to admire," I said, trying to sound relaxed.

"Roughing it with only a three-bedroom place, I'm—" Duo broke off, and I heard muffled voices in the background. "Shit, Mike and Tyll are back, and we've gotta quiz, see if their drunken rampage improved their memory."

"Let me know if it did, I might test the theory," I answered, chuckling, relieved Duo had moved away from the other topic. "I'll let you go, then."

"All right." Duo hesitated—I could hear the hitch in his voice. "You sure you're okay, Quatre? I mean, this isn't—"

"Maybe it is like me," I answered, cutting off his words, knowing what he'd say before he said it. One benefit of friendship, I suppose. "But I've never tried... "

"That's true, Cat, that's true," and he laughed.

I made a face. "Cat! Stop that. I want a cooler nickname than that."

"Cat fits you," Duo said, and made a purring sound. It ended in laughter, and he promised to see me soon and hung up without waiting for my answer. But that was what he always did; he hated to hear people tell him goodbye.

I put the phone in its cradle on the floor by the bed, and crouched down by the backpack, studying the student ID form carefully. My legal name was printed at the top, and underneath was a single, empty line. Preferred form of address... I ran my finger across the thin line, and considered it carefully. Digging a pen from the backpack, I put the pen's end in my mouth, bit down, and uncapped the pen. Lettering as neatly as I could manage, I superstitiously blew on the paper before recapping the pen, reviewing the simple curves of my new name.

Cat.

So it's not the coolest name, but I was nineteen and hadn't ever had a nickname before. I figured the important part was satisfied: someone else gave it to me, even if I did have to ask. It would do, until I made one for myself.

 

 

 

The directions said a half-hour. I was spread-legged on the floor, my back against the cabinets, perusing the instructions for the eighth time. The dye was in my hair, and the vodka bottle at my side, and the alarm clock was set, but it just seemed like there had to be more to it than that. Whenever someone came to the house to cut my hair, it always seemed to take an hour or two. How could I possibly have a whole new look in only thirty minutes?

When I washed it all out—two shots and several desperate second-thinking moments later—I scrubbed at my hair, ditched the conditioner, and studied the results. My summer-white hair was a medium brown, with coppery streaks. Frowning thoughtfully, I turned this way and that, then leaned forward to stare at the hairs, close up. It didn't look real, but wasn't that the point?

Or maybe if it didn't look real, it'd scream that I wasn't Cat, but Quatre. I chewed on my lower lip, caught sight of the nervous movement, and tried to stop. Another look at my hair, and I was chewing again. I sighed, and had another shot of vodka. Tomorrow was the first day of classes, and I'd lucked out with my Monday classes not starting until ten. That should give me enough time to make sure I was ready for any eventuality.

 

 

 

I was woken five hours later by gunshots.

There was no hesitation. The Ruger under my pillow was in my hand instantly. I trained it on the door, then the window. One foot was out, pressed against the wooden floor, the other under me, holding my weight as I pivoted between the two entrances. I listened for the sound of sirens, vaguely comforted when they didn't come.

It took me a minute to realize my instincts had me certain the sirens would be indication someone was coming for  _me_. My hands started shaking at that, and I racked the slide, ejecting the round before settling the gun down on the pillow. It was within easy reach, its weight and heft comfortable and too familiar in my hand.

My hand stole out, clasping the gun loosely, and I leaned my back against the wall, bringing my knees up. I wondered if it had been a bad idea to bring the gun. I simply hadn't been able to fathom not bringing it, though. It wasn't because of the neighborhood. It was because of me. I needed it.

Ironic. Is that the word? That of all the things I left behind, I couldn't leave my gun.

Resting my head against the wall, I let my legs slide down into a cross-legged position, the gun across my lap. I slept that way the rest of the night.

 

 

 

I look back now, and wonder if anyone had been able to see into my fourth-story, one-room, overheated apartment that Monday morning. They would have seen a young adult—if I could give myself that much credit—putting on a shirt, taking it off, putting it on, taking it off. I'm sure none of my sisters ever spent half as much time planning for their dates as I did trying on the three pairs of jeans.

The khakis were pulled out and studied, then tossed aside. I wanted to wear jeans. I'd bought three pair, but now I was waffling. I wasn't sure whether to laugh at myself or beat my head against something. Me, the mighty Gundam pilot, brought low by fashion ignorance.

Eventually I settled on the dark blue t-shirt, and the last pair of blue jeans. I'd found some used boots that fit, that reminded me of what Duo had worn the last time I'd seen him, six months before. The boots seemed comfortable enough, broken in, but still I paced the floor several times, around in a twelve-foot circumference, second-guessing myself.

Finally, frustrated enough with my indecision, I grabbed my bag, squared my shoulders, and headed to campus.

 

 

 

" ...and the first and second chapters in Carter, plus the essay, which is available online on the class home site. Be sure you have your school login and PIN. If you haven't gotten it, get it soon." The professor checked her watch. "One last thing. Group projects."

Several people around me groaned loudly, and I shifted in my seat nervously. Don't fidget, I could hear my tutor's voice saying, and I grumbled mentally. I had no problem joining four other lethal boys on a ship outside the earth's atmosphere, so that was sort of like a really big group project, right? Wrong. I knew where they were coming from, and the objective was clear. Here, I was dealing with something far worse: normal people.

I sighed, and looked around me, wondering what the etiquette was. The girl next to me caught my eye and gave me a sympathetic smile, which I returned automatically.

"Pick five people, and your first project is to build a bridge," the professor was saying. She pulled out a box, and the girl next to me buried her head in her hands.

The guy on my other side whispered loudly enough for the entire class to hear, probably on purpose. "Not the bridge, Dr. Riley... "

"I see you've heard of it," Dr. Riley said, and grinned wolfishly. She brought out six smaller boxes from the large box, and I craned my neck to see what they were. "Drinking straws," she announced. Bringing out something else, she held it up. "And twine. Pick five people, and you have two weeks before your bridges are due. For those of you not familiar with the infamous bridge, it needs to carry the weight of three full soda cans... provided by me, not your team." She stared pointedly at the guy who'd whispered, and he grinned, unabashed. Dr. Riley waved to the class, and leaned against the whiteboard. "You have until the end of class to meet each other."

"Hey," the girl next to me whispered, and I gave her a curious look. She smiled, her grin taking up nearly as much room on her face as her big brown eyes. "Wanna be in our group? We've got four people, so we need one more... "

"Already?" I twisted around to see another girl, sitting behind me. She was smirking, her red hair slicked back in a cosmopolitan bob. Her skin was as pale as a colony brat's, and I was willing to bet her natural hair color was probably a great deal lighter.

"Yeah, we had classes together our sophomore year with Riley," the guy said. "I'm Chip."

"Q—Cat," I said, but didn't offer to shake hands. I figured I'd wait to see if he did. He didn't, and I turned to the first girl who'd spoken.

"Lisa," she said, then pointed to the redhead. "Lola. And Felicia," she concluded, jerking her head at a black girl lazing back in her chair and doodling on her notebook. Felicia winked at me, her expression otherwise deadpan.

"Cat," Lola said, rolling the word around in her mouth. "You give tongue baths?"

I blinked. I know I did, because Chip laughed, then leaned over and smacked Lola on the back of her head.

"Stop messing with the new boy," he admonished. "Don't mind her. She'd flirt with a hole in the wall."

"Now I'm really complimented," I murmured. Lisa cracked up, and I knew I'd scored. I let my smile turn a little smug, and Lola gave me a small salute and a smile.

The conversation turned to the issue of building a bridge from straws and twine, and we agreed to meet at the library at five to start planning. Just clearing our schedules against each other took most of the rest of the time, and before I knew it, the clock said eleven-thirty. I gathered up my bag, and stood, feeling awkward amongst the press of so many bodies trying to get out. I hung back, reluctant to push through, and was startled when someone slipped an arm through mine.

"Whoa, boy," Lola said. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Sorry," I told her, chuckling, mildly annoyed that she'd managed to sneak into my personal space so easily. "Just... " I shrugged, not sure how to finish the sentence.

"Yeah," Lola replied, in that way people have when they're not really listening. She waved to Felicia, who fell in step beside us as we left the classroom. "So, lunch? Hungry?"

"A little," I admitted. "I have a dining pass," I began, and then stopped again.

"You don't have to eat at the cafeteria," Felicia said, giving me an odd look. "We eat in the food court, in Wilson."

"The big building, right?" I ran down the mental list of buildings, and recollected Wilson was the library, food court, and administration offices, rolled into one.

"Follow me... Cat," Lola drawled, casting a sideways look from under her eyelashes.

"Lay on, MacDuff," I said, and let the two young women drag me towards the main hub of the campus.

 

 

 

I got home at eleven that night, and dropped my bag on the floor, sliding down the door until I was in a heap. I felt like I'd walked fifteen miles, and from the size of the campus, it probably had been that much. Advanced Structural Engineering at ten, and Macroeconomics at two, naturally on the other end of the campus from Wilson. At five, the meeting with the team—which had been relatively free of banter and heavy on the actual project—and then run to my five-thirty class, which was Sanskrit.

I had to take a language anyway, and it was one I'd never studied. Hopefully it would be easier, given that I was fluent in Arabic, French, and Italian already, but the professor seemed to be quite impressed with himself. I'd had a tutor like that, and from that experience, figured the wisest course of action was to keep my mouth shut and not let on that I wasn't some moron who barely knew my own native language.

The killer was going to be the History of Law class, which fulfilled a graduation requirement but was a three-hour course on Monday evenings. The professor seemed knowledgeable, but already I had four chapters to read by the next Monday. I groaned just thinking about it, and banged my head against the door. It didn't make me feel any better.

Tuesdays and Thursdays would be Advanced Calculus, which I hadn't bothered to try and test out of, and Geopolitical History, topped off with University Science. All of them were general education requirements, but I'd tried to pick ones that weren't the usual run of options.

Exhausted, I shoved my bag over, and stood up, wandering to the small fridge and pulling out a cup of yogurt. I hadn't gone food shopping, but Felicia had drawn me a map of where to find the nearest grocery stores. She noted on the map that she was only two blocks from me, in case I ever needed a study partner.

The very idea was alien. I studied under one tutor at a time, by myself. I trained alone. I built Wing Zero on my own. The idea of studying with someone else was... strangely attractive. I'm not sure I'd learn more—and I wasn't sure I wanted to be around people that much, not until I found my footing. Lola had pestered me over lunch as to why I didn't take any notes. I just shrugged, then, unwilling to say out loud that I was waiting for the professor to say something I didn't already know—or couldn't grasp intuitively, right off the bat. I decided I would take notes from then on, even if I didn't need them. I'd stand out less.

Everyone else takes notes, I reminded myself. Finishing the yogurt, I realized I didn't have a trashcan, and ending up rinsing out the plastic cup and setting it on the shelf next to my mug. Perhaps it would be useful. I wasn't sure, and I was too tired to care.

Toeing off my boots, I threw myself down on the mattress, rolled over on my back, and stared at the ceiling. The last thing I did was check for my gun under the pillow. Assured, my fingers just touching the cool metal of the grip, I fell asleep.

There were no gunshots that night.

 

 

 

"What does a green slip mean?"

I studied the small scrap of paper, flipping it over. It was stamped with the school post office's address, and nothing else. I'd decided to make a habit of checking my mailbox after my Calculus class. Chip had his Theoretical Mathematics class down the hall, and he'd seen me the second day of classes and insisted I come to lunch with he and some friends. Now it was Thursday but I didn't think it was soon enough for any campus mail. Besides, I had a home address, and that's where the monthly business updates would be sent.

Chip leaned over, snapped his finger at the edge of the paper, and grinned.

"Means care package," he said. "If it's food, you sharing?"

"Who'd send me food?"

Still staring at the green slip, I followed Chip to the post office window. I gave them the slip and my box number, and was presented with a long box, about the size that roses come in.

"I don't know," Chip said, eyeing the box dubiously. "Strange shape for cookies."

"I doubt they're cookies," I told him, and slid the box quickly under my arm before he could see the address. "Thanks for showing me the deal... with the green slip."

"Yeah, and now I get to see what's in the box." Chip raised his eyebrows until they nearly disappeared in his jet-black hair, his dark eyes wide. "Come on, man. I brought brownies to our last meeting."

"One for each of us," I reminded him. "Hardly a meal."

"Hmm, next time bring beer," Chip said, and grinned. He nudged the end of the box with a finger. "Jeez, you're no fun." He halted, and the abrupt stop made me turn and look. He was staring at the box, his eyes wide, and I tensed, ready to watch him back up and stare at me differently. "Damn, you got family in the force?"

"In the what?" I frowned, and looked down at the box. It was addressed to Cat Winner, and I rolled my eyes, immediately figuring I'd have Chip open it for me if it was from Duo. I'm not stupid. Who knows what'd jump out of a box packed by a demolitions expert.

"Shit, headquarters, too," Chip said, impressed. I looked where he pointed, and my jaw dropped.

W. Chang, Preventers Headquarters, 10579 Imperial Avenue, Sanq...

"Okay, it's too short to be a blade," I muttered, ignoring Chip's puzzled look as I turned and headed back to the counter. I set the box down on the far end and ripped into the brown paper, tearing away the evidence of my name and the return address. A plain white box was revealed under my fingertips, and I lifted the lid gingerly, leaning away, just in case it really was another one of Duo's jokes. Instead, it was something long and round, packed in soft cotton batting. I pushed the batting away, lifting out the object.

"A scroll," I whispered, almost forgetting Chip at my shoulder, watching eagerly. I unrolled a little of it, enough to see the Chinese characters, painted in gold on red paper, backed by a fine yellowish silk paper.

"What's it say?" Chip peered at it.

"No idea." I rolled it back up and put it in the box. "I don't know Chinese."

"Go by the Chinese department," he suggested, then checked his watch. "Fuck, I'm late for English comp. Stupid requirements. Gotta run, man."

"Sure," I said, a little absently, waving as he split at top speed, weaving skillfully through a crowd of giggling freshman girls. I smiled at them, surprised when four smiled back and seemed to maneuver directly into my path. Stepping around them, I headed for the Language Building.

 

 

 

"Good fortune," the man said, nodding. He stared at the top half of the scroll, opened across his desk. "You just started school?"

"Ah... " I tried not to squirm under his intense gaze. "Yes, sir. Transferred."

"You have thoughtful friends," he told me, and unrolled the scroll a bit farther. "This means fortune, in the modern script. And these... " He pointed to the rows of oddly-shaped, elaborate characters under the main, large one, at the top. "..are the traditional, original ways of writing it. These parts on either side of the modern character basically say 'a hundred good fortunes in all your endeavors', so it's both a charm, and wishes for good luck."

"Oh." I looked down at the scroll, the graceful arcs and swoops of the gold ink frozen on the crimson background, and knew a smile was sneaking onto my face: a pleased, flattered smile. "Wow."

"Yes," the professor said, and carefully rolled it back up for me, presenting it with a small bow. "Your friends hope you succeed."

I took the scroll, packing it away in its box, and thanked the professor again. Leaving the office, I tucked the box more securely under my arm, and headed to the library for my mid-day studying. I already had several chapters to read, sixteen problems to solve, and my assigned research for my share of our group project.

But now I also had something to hang on the walls in my apartment.

It was a good feeling, although the fact that Wufei sent it seemed unusual. I only spoke with him every few months, and intermittent emails. I hadn't seen him in a year, but that was par for the course. None of the five of us were really big on keeping in touch past random updates, other than Duo, who called at odd times, insistent he'd decided we needed to bond. But then, Duo did that to all of us. Wufei, though, didn't, and he certainly didn't make a habit of sending out gorgeous painted scrolls on a whim.

Or maybe it wasn't a whim, I thought, but pushed that idea away. It was a gift, and I would take it in the manner it was intended. I was somewhat disappointed there hadn't been a letter, or even a short note—let alone an explanation or translation for the scroll—but I figured perhaps that was Wufei's style. He certainly had never given me anything before; then again, I'd never given him anything, either.

I pondered that as I set the box down on the library table and pulled out my Calculus textbook. I had the sudden urge to call Rashid and tell him to deliver... what? I paused, my hand in my bag, searching for a pencil, frozen in the act. What would I send him? I didn't know Wufei well enough to know how to thank him... and perhaps the lack of a note was indication that he didn't want such a response.

That was a relief, a little, to assume I didn't need to respond, although every fiber of my upbringing was vibrating in annoyance that I wasn't going to observe proper etiquette and send my gratitude along with a return gift. But what could I possibly get a former comrade I hadn't seen in seven, eight months?

No idea, I told myself. Setting it aside to consider later, I hunched over my Calculus text and got to work. I could worry later about how to repay my debt for Wufei's kindness.

 

 

 

_"Sir?"_

_The boy looks worried, and Quatre shrugs, not answering until he's studied all the options. He considers the newest tires, and nods his head in their direction._

_"The Pirelli SRT-189s," he says._

_"Oh," and the boy's eyes go wide. They're not the most expensive in the store, but they're certainly in the top three, and they're high quality. "Let me make sure those are in stock... " He hustles off to the bank of computers by the service desk._

_Quatre shoves his hands in his pockets, and cocks his head at the tires. A simple retail job, he thinks, and chuckles under his breath._

_Nothing is ever simple, really. It just looks that way if you're doing it right._

 


	2. Chapter 2

Time passes quickly when you've got your nose in a book. Four weeks into the semester, and I was still finding my feet, but that was mostly because I often had a book or notepad in the way. I'd taken to writing everything down, but still had time to doodle in the margins. Little sketches of my professors, my classmates, my hand, my shoe sticking out from under the desk. I also carried around a three-by-five card, to cover those sketches when I'd copy my notes for any classmate who'd missed class. The girl would giggle, and thank me, and take the notes while eyeing my notebook, and offer to buy me coffee. But I still wasn't going to show any of them my sketches, and I didn't really like coffee much, anyway.

I discovered that a cool way to spend a Tuesday afternoon was at the grocery store. Felicia called it a bodega. That was probably the coolest part of all. Bodega. There's a word I could roll around in my mouth, draw it out long and low like Felicia said it, and feel like it was something exotic. Narrow aisles of produce shining under the artificial lights, cans upon cans of different foods that I had no idea how to cook; I stuck to the simple things like sandwiches. When I found the bodega sold cheap pots, I bought one, and expanded my repertoire to soup.

Classes continued, and we built our suspension bridge. I had ended up being the de facto leader of the team, which was both something that flattered me and embarrassed me at the same time. I did my best to pawn off as much decision-making onto the rest of the group, but the more I did, the more they called me the team leader. Eventually I gave up, and let them say what they wanted. As long as we were working, Lola couldn't tease me, and Lisa wouldn't moon over Chip while he wasn't looking.

We were four weeks into the semester, halfway to midterms, when Dr. Robinson announced an opening in the laser lab. I checked it out while Chip chattered over my shoulder about an upcoming party, and reviewed the job responsibilities.

Check, check, check, I thought, pleased. I can do that. Then I scanned the second half of the posting, and my heart sank. A job would be good to have. I mean, money—really, at the bottom line—wasn't necessary. But I had put myself on a budget, based on the average amount of scholarship at the university. And besides, I was getting a little bored in Structural Engineering, although the professor was cool. Sanskrit was a challenge, but I was starting to suspect I could sleep through Calculus and ace everything.

The problem was that I'd never held a job in my life. How the hell was I going to explain I could handle the responsibility, when the only jobs I'd had were ones cut out for me, handed to me, and completed even if I didn't do the work myself? After the Eve Wars, Chang and Yuy had often called me up to help run the strategy on some of the more pressing rebel factions that sprung up, and I'd never had qualms walking away from my busy work.

That's what it really was, after all. There were reams of accountants and secretaries and assistants and analysts who were perfectly capable of doing their job without my interference. I was just the figurehead.

And now I had to do my own laundry, which was when I decided that going without underwear wasn't that difficult, once you got used to it. Socks were another issue, however, so laundry had some value. However, socks could be washed in the sink and hung over the shower rail in a pinch. I was rather proud of myself for thinking up that adaptation.

 

 

 

I thought I was adjusting well enough, even if I still got skittish the nights there was gunfire in the streets, and I still startled easily when pushed into a crowd of students. Chip and his friends coaxed me out to a few movies on campus, free to students, and I did my best to enjoy myself. The first two were comedies. The fourth week of school, it was some kind of shoot 'em up drama with a ridiculously implausible love interest.

So there I was, watching the hero and his girl trade insults. I kept thinking of Heero and Relena during the war, or Hilde and Duo: both couples I'd figured would end up together, being so perfectly simpatico. Nothing came of it. But Chang and Po were like that—and still were. I had to laugh, but not at the same thing as everyone else. I was imagining Po's face if I ever suggested that she and Chang would end up together, thanks to their obvious chemistry and passion. They sure always argued like cats and dogs, but insult one and you could expect to find the other one's gun in your face before you had time to blink.

Just as I got to that visual, the hero pulled out his gun. At first I was impressed with the model, being a newer kind that wasn't often seen on the open market. But when the hero fired, the hapless victim flew backwards ten feet and I nearly choked on my popcorn. I counted the bullets spraying from the hero's gun, which had passed ten bullets without reloading at least five minutes before. And I sank down in my seat, mildly annoyed when the hero knocked out five bad guys who'd had the decency to come at him one at a time.

All I could think was: damn, if only Oz had been that conscientious, we would've thrashed them even faster. Thoughts like that made me laugh, though, when everyone else was on the edge of their seats. I attempted a poker face, rather than pretend to be astonished, and to cover the helpless laughter I could feel bubbling up.

When we left the movie, Mike bumped me in the shoulder, his expression curious. "Hey, you not like it? I know the chick was skanky, but the action sequences—"

"Were absolute bullshit," I blurted out. Chip came to a complete halt on the sidewalk, his eyes wide, and I managed a wry grin. "But it was okay, I guess."

"What was bullshit about it?" Chip was watching me closely, and I wondered if I'd accidentally offended him. He didn't feel offended though, just puzzled, and I realized Mike and Vin were echoing Chip's look.

"Ten rounds to a magazine," I said, rather weakly. "That guy shot seventeen rounds before reloading."

"That's Hollywood," Vin said, laughing. "They do crap like that."

"And the girl was using a fifty-caliber round," I continued, unable to stop. "At her weight, she should've been the one flying backwards, not the guy she hit. Hell, if she could even lift the gun in the first place."

"You know guns, hunh," Chip said, his tone measuring. "See," and he turned to the other two guys, "Cat's got friends on the force, in Preventers. Bet they've pumped his head full of crazy ideas."

"Something like that," I muttered. Suddenly I wasn't so sure I wanted to go with them to the party Mike had heard about, off-campus. I felt instead like kicking myself. I hadn't yet found the rulebook, but I was sure somewhere in there had to be a passage against spouting esoteric technical trivia among my otherwise ignorant peers.

But then Vin changed the subject to the question of who'd slept with Lola already, and I let the topic move away from me, neither confirming nor denying my own interaction with her. I'd not slept with her. I didn't even have her phone number, unless she was the one who scribbled it on a piece of paper and shoved it into my back pocket the other day after class. I wasn't sure, so I'd thrown it away.

The party was loud, of course, free from the campus noise restraints, and filled to the brim with students. We had to crawl in through a side window to fit into the first-floor apartment, and soon we had our plastic cups filled with cheap beer, standing in a group waiting for pretty girls to notice us. I leaned against the wall, watching my friends over the edge of my cup, amused at their preening, loud joking, the boisterous movements of young men who want someone to notice them. This was behavior I could recognize; Duo had pointed it out to me often enough, and did it himself when the fancy struck him.

"Drunk yet?" Felicia's voice snapped me out of my entertainment, and I glanced down to see her lean against the wall next to me, her shoulder almost even with mine. I frowned, and bent over. When I stood up, she was grinning lazily.

"All right, you're wearing heels," I said. "Damn, and I thought I'd shrunk." I glanced down into the half-empty cup of beer. "For a second there, I thought this crap was actually having an effect."

"Fat chance," she retorted. "You'll need six more to get tipsy. Watered down, I'm sure."

"Too bad they don't have something worthwhile, like vodka." I drank the rest of the beer, and tossed the cup one-handed over my friends. It landed in the trash can, ten feet away.

Felicia whistled. "Not bad for a white boy."

I blinked, and once again she winked at me. She seemed to always know the right thing to say to trip me up, and I think she enjoyed doing it, too. Sometimes it bothered me, and sometimes I could shrug it off, but I always gave her the same response: a small smile, like I knew something she didn't. She'd begun answering the look with one of her own, and I figured that made us even.

"You here with Canh?" I leaned against the wall again, crossing my arms. Some blond girl had draped herself across Vin, who was looking mighty pleased with himself.

"Yeah. Got here half-hour ago." Felicia sipped her drink, too daintily in my opinion for someone rather blunt the rest of the time. "Might dump his ass, though, if he keeps making eyes at those girls in the corner." She shrugged.

"Get rid of him for just looking?" I was a little shocked. It seemed rather capricious.

"You think I couldn't get someone else even better?" Felicia cocked a hip, and gave me a smug look. "Don't underestimate me, handsome."

"Never would, gorgeous," I replied, and she laughed, a throaty sound. She'd come up with that nickname and didn't seem like she was planning on dropping it, so again fighting fire with fire seemed the best option. At least in her case, the moniker fit.

We ended up hanging together while Chip and his friends melted into the crowd. Lisa had appeared, so naturally Chip gravitated towards her, leaving the rest of us to our own devices. Vin was ensconced by the bathroom door with the blond, and who knows where Mike had wandered off to—probably doing beer shots with the other former athletes, I guessed. The comedies we'd seen, the weeks before, had characters like Mike and Vin, and I'd assumed the characters were cookie-cutter stereotypes. After several afternoons and two parties in their company, though, I was fully convinced the screenwriters had known Mike and Vin from somewhere, and were just faithfully duplicating their personalities on-screen.

It was a little after two when Felicia sighed and pushed away from the wall.

"Great picking on the locals with you, Cat," she said. "I'm going to find Canh and head out. See ya in class on Monday."

"Yeah, sure," I replied, and shrugged. "Probably head home soon myself."

"Alone?" Her look turned sly.

"Yeah." I frowned, but bit back the rest of the words: I don't want to meet someone here, and take them back to my place. It's my place. It's not open for public viewing.

"Chill," she murmured, and patted me on the shoulder. "Walk safe."

"Same," I called, watching the change in her normally strong walk, now a positive strut from the high heels combined with graceful legs. She was attractive, no doubt, and heads turned as she passed, that dark skin gleaming under the lights, the raised chin and confident smile adding to the sexiness. Yeah, she was sexy, but I didn't feel like she, or anyone else, would ever be someone I'd want to bring back to my place. It just didn't feel right.

I left about ten minutes later, too bored to bother fighting my way to the keg for a sixth beer when the first five had done little other than make me need to pee, and badly. It took several minutes before I got into the bathroom, and half of that time was spent pushing Vin and the unnamed blonde out of the way. Bladder empty and stomach growling for a midnight snack, I evaded several girls' attempts to waylay me about classes we shared, or that I shared with a friend of theirs. It was Saturday, at almost two-thirty in the morning, and I really couldn't see the point in discussing economic theory with a girl swaying on her feet. I thanked each politely, made my excuses, and stepped out into the September night.

It was probably an eight-block walk, and once I was at the corner, away from the old apartment building, most of the foot traffic had thinned out. It felt odd to be out, that late, without cold metal resting at the base of my spine, but at least I knew how to walk like I was carrying. A bit of a drag on the right foot, a heavier step, and I hunched my shoulders so my jacket stood out at the back.

I was two blocks from my place when I saw Canh and Felicia up ahead of me. Felicia was bending over, fiddling with the strap on her heels and cussing a blue streak, while Canh looked on with a long-suffering expression. He saw me and waved, and I couldn't help but grin as I walked up.

"You sure those are worth being three inches taller? Still only made you what... five-nine?" I dodged when Felicia came bolt upright and tried to swat me.

The feint and twist away from her hand was what distracted me, I think. When I turned to face her again, she was staring away from me, her eyes wide. There was a gun leveled at her nose, about a foot away. Canh had frozen, his hands raised halfway.

"Gimme your wallet, bitch!" The guy glanced over at Canh. "You, too, college boy!"

I scanned the sidewalk past the three, and realized the guy must've stepped right out of the shadows behind Felicia. And I hadn't even noticed someone was standing there. I felt like an idiot. The gun wavered, and I started to feel like an annoyed idiot.

I was halfway between Canh and Felicia, facing the guy, whose gun was within my reach. I wasn't five-foot-two anymore, and I didn't have the innocent look on my side, if I ever had. But I did have better reflexes, and I could only hope the guy with the gun didn't.

"Lower your gun," I told him, in a flat tone, "and you'll walk away."

"Gimme your money," he barked, "and you'll live."

"Oh, please," I retorted. At the same instant, I grabbed the barrel of the gun, grabbing it around the stock. Twisting against his wrist, I ripped the gun from his hands. I flipped the gun and leveled the barrel on him.

"You should've listened," I told him. The guy blinked, staring at the gun, then me, clearly uncertain how it had happened. I flipped the gun again, stepped forward, and smashed the butt against his forehead.

He hit the ground with a soft cry.

Canh was staring at me wide-eyed, and Felicia still hadn't taken her eyes off the gun. At least one of them knows where the attention should be, I told myself, and sighed.

"You two, go on home," I said, very softly. "I'll take care of this."

"Cat," Felicia whispered, her eyes still on the gun.

She wavered, unwilling or unable to move. I spared a glance at Canh, who looked like he'd been the one to get hit upside the head.

"Take him home," I ordered in the coldest tone I could manage. It startled her out of her fright, and Canh jerked as well.

"See you in class," Felicia said, and the next second she and Canh had stepped around the guy's huddled figure, and were hurrying off down the sidewalk.

I waited until they had disappeared around the corner before I crouched down next to the guy. He flinched, and I amused myself by dismantling his gun while waiting for him to raise his head.

"What are you doing," he said, his eyes wide.

"Checking it out," I replied. "Nice piece. You sure you know how to use it? Safety was on the whole time." I quickly reassembled it, feeling the pieces slide and click into place beneath my fingers, but kept my eyes on him the whole time. His gaze was darting between me, and the gun, and back again. I twirled the gun on my finger, letting it fall with a snap into the palm of my hand, butt towards him.

"Who the fuck are you," he asked, and didn't raise his hand to take the gun.

"Cat," I said. "And if you see me, you leave me alone. And if you see me with someone, you leave us alone. And if you see someone that you'd seen with me, even if I'm not there, you leave  _them_  alone. Got all that?"

"Uh..." He swallowed hard, and I held the gun out towards him. His eyes narrowed, and I had to up my respect for him somewhere above roaches, but still far below the average Oz enlisted man. "How do you know I won't take the gun back and shoot you?"

"Because first, I've got no money, so that's a bullet spent that didn't get you shit," I replied. "And second, because if you don't kill me with the first shot, you won't even live long enough to mourn your mistake."

He took the gun with shaking fingers, and I stood up, backing away a step. The closer look told me he was probably a boy, no older than I'd been when I'd gone off to war. The comparison made me ache, and I watched with a flat expression while he tucked the gun away, nodded nervously, and slipped into the alleyway. I waited until I could hear his footsteps fading into the distance, and then I headed home.

 

  

 

_The first shop is a stationary store, and Quatre leans into the window, studying the pale cream and lavender shades of the parchment. It's a beautiful thing, unmarked, perfect, and he decides against purchasing any. He wanders into the store, and after several minutes of contemplation, picks up a gorgeous ink pen._

_"It's the old-fashioned kind," the clerk tells him. Her hair is graying around her temples, but she meets his eyes steadily. He turns the pen around in his hands. "It requires refill with these," she adds, pointing out the box that comes with the pen. "Once these are out, you can use the order form included to get more." She pauses, watching him run his fingers across the pen's barrel. "They're very popular as gifts for executives."_

_"Signing a lot of documents," he says, half to himself. "Fine. Could you wrap it?"_

_"Of course," and she smiles brilliantly. Swiftly she packages it up, wrapping it in cream-colored paper like the kind he saw in the window display. "Anything else, sir?"_

_He shakes his head, and the movement of his reflection in the glass catches his attention. He towers over her by a head, at least, and his shoulders are broader, his build stronger. It confuses him for a second, to realize that's him, not some other stranger at the counter. It seems odd that he's thirty-two, that he's well-dressed, that he seems the very picture of adult success—as those things go—and he has to take a second to catch his breath._

_"Sir?" She pushes the receipt towards him, and he bends to sign it, but he can't erase the image of his reflection from his mind._

_In twelve hours, he'll be young again, it seems._

 

 

 

"You just took it... like that," Felicia repeated. We were sitting outside after class, having managed to successfully ditch Lola for once. Felicia hadn't looked me in the eyes all class, but no one else was acting differently, so I hoped that meant she hadn't seen fit to tell them all she'd nearly been mugged.

"Yeah. Safety was on," I said, wondering if that would relieve the shock still radiating from her, two days later.

"How did you know?" She ran a hand over her thick hair, poking it behind her ears, and gave me a stern look. "It was dark, and you barely had time to look."

"I just knew," I told her, and sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," she replied, relenting. "It's just...I know there's violence, and I know it's a bad neighborhood, but I've never been held at gunpoint before. Got mugged twice my sophomore year, but that was at knifepoint. It's...it's not the same." She sighed.

"No, I guess not." I leaned back on the brick wall, and curled my fingers around the back edge, drumming idly as I contemplated the idea in my head. "I think you should get a gun."

"Me?" Felicia came the closest to squeaking I'd ever heard. I almost laughed, but her look darkened and I knew if I even cracked a smile she'd swat me again. "I don't know how to shoot. I've never even held a gun!"

"Girls with guns, sexy," Chip drawled, appearing beside Felicia. He dropped his bag on the ground and plopped down next to her. "What did I miss in class?"

"Major pop quiz," Felicia replied without missing a beat. "Worth twenty-percent of our grade."

"Fuck," Chip said, sagging. There was a pause, and he sat upright again, leaning past Felicia to look at me. I nodded solemnly, and his eyes went almost impossibly wide. Unfortunately, Felicia chose that moment to laugh, and Chip scowled. "Bastards, both of you."

"I'm no bastard," Felicia replied. "Do I look like I've got a dick?"

"Hope not, or Canh's in for a surprise when you give up your virtue." Chip grinned smugly, then yelped as Felicia smacked him in the arm. Recovering, he rubbed his arm and gave her a slightly more serious look. "So what's this about you buying a gun?"

"For her protection," I said. "She needs to learn to shoot, too, but I don't know where around here—"

"At the range, just on the other side of Twenty-first, past the subway station," Chip said, and grinned widely. "My uncle used to work across the street from there. If you don't mind being side-by-side with cops, you could go there." He frowned, and scratched the back of his head. "I guess. I don't know if they let in people who aren't cops."

"I'll find out," I promised Felicia, who nodded, but looked worried. I gave her a small smile, the one I used when I wanted to look sympathetic, and she relaxed a little. "Don't worry. I'm not going to push a gun in your hand and let you walk out without knowing how to use it. If I do that, I might as well put a gun in someone else's hands to use on you, because that's where it'll end up."

"Okay, Cat," Felicia said, but she looked intimidated. Chip, meanwhile, looked fascinated.

"This is 'cause of that friend you've got in Preventers, right?"

"Uh, kind of," I said, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"I think we should make a day of it," Chip announced. "Get Lola and Lisa, and Mike, and Vin if he's up to it." Chip nudged Felicia with his shoulder. "That way you won't feel like you're wearing a big sign that says you're new to it. Always better to learn with other fools, so you won't stand out as much."

I thought Felicia was going to melt at the unexpected insight from our class clown. "Yeah, if Cat..."

She glanced at me, and I shrugged, but inside I was wishing I could come up with a damn good reason to keep it a private deal. I couldn't, not without really sounding like I had something to hide. I did my best to shrug, with a nonchalant air.

"Okay, then," Felicia told Chip. "Some Saturday coming up, maybe?"

"I'm free on Saturdays," I said. I knew Felicia knew it was true, but I wish it weren't. Going to a shooting range with that many people, and me... I squashed down my instinctive reaction. I could tell Felicia was getting tense next to me; perhaps she was starting to wonder if my dampened enthusiasm was because I'd changed my mind. I suspected she probably would have been relieved to hear me call it off, but I'd just spent a half-hour trying to convince her. It would definitely look strange now if I started whistling something different.

"Anytime after one," Chip agreed. "I'll talk to Mike and Vin, Felicia, you get Lisa and Lola. And Cat, you get us guns."

"The range may provide those," I said, amused at the idea of myself as a gun smuggler, selling bootleg ammunition on campus. Now that would be a twist. I spent a year purchasing bootleg. Wouldn't it be fitting to turn around and sell it?

"You're the man," Chip said, standing. "And I'm hungry! Can I get your notes later, when we meet?"

"Yeah," I said, sighing deeply. Chip grinned, and I made a mental note that I'd need to copy and cover my most recent sketches. I'd done one of Lisa falling asleep in class, and I doubted she'd appreciate me handing such material over into Chip's corrupted paws.

 

 

 

When the phone rang two nights later, at first I was confused by the sound. When I realized what it was, it took me several minutes to find it. Collapsing into a crouch where I'd located it, I answered somewhat breathlessly.

"Hello?"

"Quatre?" Iria sounded worried. "Are you busy? Is this a bad time?"

"No, not busy," I replied, delighted to hear from her. I had thought about calling, but the cost of a card to cover the dirtside-to-spaceball transmission was way beyond my current budget. I wasn't willing to break out of that frame just to touch base, settling for short emails every other week or so. "Just had to find the phone."

"Buried under homework?" She laughed.

"Uh..." I knew I was blushing. I could feel my ears getting hot. "Actually, no. It was kind of under dirty clothes."

"Kind of," Iria repeated, in a flat tone, "under dirty clothes."

"Yeah," I said, scratching the back of my head, abashed. I realized I was doing that, and dropped my hand, which only made me feel more self-conscious. "I've been meaning to do laundry, but..."

Iria cleared her throat. "Excuse me, but do I really have the correct Quatre Winner?"

"Hunh?"

"Little brother, I've seen your room on L4 and in Sanq, and your hotel rooms, and you never have a single thing out of place. I want to know who kidnapped you and replaced you with an inexact replica."

"Uh, see..." I squirmed, and swore at myself under my breath. "I've been busy."

"I see." Iria chuckled, and said in a knowing tone, "Oh...busy social life?"

"I guess." I leaned back against the wall, and kicked my pile of laundry out of the way, stretching out my legs. "I'm at the library all day Saturday and Saturdays night I hang out with some guys from my classes, and have study sessions on Fridays and Sundays, and during the week—"

"That's not what I meant. Studying doesn't—"

"I think I want to get a job," I added, quickly.

"A job..." Iria brightened, forgetting her previous line of thought. "What kind of job?"

"I'm not sure. They're hiring all over campus, but I'm not sure I want to work for the school."

"Just don't let it be retail," Iria said, and sighed. "If Alayah or Jasmine find out, they'll have fits."

She laughed again, and I joined her. Those two were among the seven who'd taken over the Winner conglomerate, and Alayah had been my so-called direct boss since the Eve Wars. Alayah had dropped more than a considerable number of hints that I should take business classes, when I asked for a one-year leave of absence. I had parried each attempt with a vague assurance that I had to take plenty of electives, too, and would get those out of the way first.

"Don't tell them, then," I said, hoping I didn't sound like I was begging. "I rather like this low-key peaceful life. I don't need them picking on me about what I'm up to."

"Does that mean I can't come for a visit?"

"A..." I blinked, and looked around my one-room apartment. "I don't really have room for—"

"I'd stay in a hotel, silly, but I'd love to see your place."

"It's not that grand," I hedged. "And it's a bit messy."

"You have four days to clean it up," Iria told me. "Unless you're hiding something..."

"No!" I sat up straight, and then scowled. "Stop making me feel like I'm fifteen again."

Iria laughed. "Just pulling your leg. I have a conference in March that will bring me planet-side. So you have six months to clean up, or move to a new address and hope I can't track you down."

"Thanks," I replied, dryly. "I'm packing now."

"You do that," she said, wished me well in my job, spun a quick Arabic phrase past my ears, and hung up.

 

 

 

The weekend before midterms, and we'd finally arranged for lanes at the shooting range, and everyone's schedule was clear. I'd studied with my various study groups over the previous week, making sure I had time. It meant staying up late several nights to get all my reading done for History of Law, but of all my classes, I was finding that one to be the easiest. It simply made sense.

I still hadn't found a job. I didn't need to work; my stipend from Alayah was more than enough. But sometimes I felt a little useless, watching my friends head off to their jobs on campus. And I'd wanted to decide that it didn't matter what I did, but then I'd come to my senses. It mattered a great deal. A job was something that I'd done because it's what I was supposed to do. It could be hectic or mind-numbingly bland, but if it's your job, you paste a smile on your face and you do it.

I didn't want to be pasting a smile on my face any more.

I set those thoughts aside and spread out my towel as a catch for the gun oil. The once-yellow towel was now stained with hair dye from my two messy adventures, and another few stains wouldn't harm it at this point. Dismantling the Ruger, I cleaned each piece carefully and pieced it back together, then took it apart again and reassembled, testing myself for speed. Satisfied I hadn't lost my touch, I slammed the magazine home, checked the safety, and shoved it in the holster at the back of my jeans.

The last thing I did was stare at my new jeans jacket. It looked like a regular black jacket from the front, but the back was emblazoned with a painting of a jaguar's paw, claws extended, as if appearing from shadows. Felicia and her roommate Kerry had talked me into buying it at the student bazaar, but I hadn't worn it, protesting it wasn't cold enough yet. The season was moving into late September. The rattling windowpanes meant it was windy, so I slipped the jacket on, twitching with the cuffs until I kicked myself out of my apartment.

At the foot of the stairs, my landlady was busy watering one of the plants by the door. It was gorgeous, and I'd assumed it was fake. Francesca leaned back to smile up at me, being all of about five-foot-one. It amused me to think that three years before, we would've been eye-to-eye.

"Cat," she said, "going out?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, automatically slipping into my best behavior. She was ninety, if a day. Living that many years in a neighborhood like this demanded respect, as far as I was concerned. She had to be tougher than Gundaniam.

"Where are your books?" Francesca tsked, her eyes disappearing in a wreath of fine wrinkles. "Hard to study without them. Midterms coming up."

"I'm ready," I assured her, then paused. "Actually...what's the best way to get to Twenty-first, by the subway station? I was given direction by the road, not for walking."

"Right out the door, four blocks, and cut through the back of the shopping center. That gets you around interchange with route 75." She explained the rest of the directions, then paused, staring at me with narrowed eyes. "Going to the police station? You in trouble?"

"Ah," I backed up quickly. "No, ma'am, just teaching a friend how to shoot."

"Female friend?" Francesca's smile grew wider, and I wondered why everyone always got that look when they asked that question.

"Yes, but just a friend," I said. I checked my watch. "I've got to go."

"Stay safe," she called, and I waved over my shoulder as I left.

 

 

 

The range was large and clean, with an excellent ventilation system. I let the clerk check my gun, paid my share of the group cost, and went to meet my classmates. They'd arrived a half-hour early for the introductory safety class, and even catching only the end I was impressed with the teacher's thorough approach. Felicia was looking far less nervous than she had when we'd discussed it the day before, and Lola was staring open-mouthed as the man demonstrated grip and posture. Lisa was nodding seriously, while Chip was busy staring at Lisa. Vin yawned and waved, and Mike barely noticed I was there, too focused on the teacher.

As beginners, they'd been assigned spotters, and we were broken into three sets of two, with me spotting for Lola and Felicia. One of the spotters was the manager, and the same guy I'd spoken to on the phone.

"Cat, right?" He stuck out his hand, and we shook, and he squinted at me. "You sounded older on the phone. Look awfully young for the experience you listed."

And I didn't even list half, I thought, and shrugged.

"We're in your group," Lola announced, as the class ended. She stuck her arm through mine, but the manager stopped her.

"I want to see him shoot, first," the manager informed her. He gave me another suspicious look, and I sighed, following him to the range.

I put on the provided ear protection and eye protection, mentally rolling my eyes at the fact that neither was second nature to me. Pulling out my gun, I racked the slide, braced myself, and fired off three rounds.

The first shot went clean through the target's center before I caught myself. I hoped the guy didn't notice the half-heartbeat of hesitation before I put one shot several inches to the left, and another slightly above. Checking the gun and setting the safety, I reholstered it before hitting the switch to bring the target paper up to the stand.

"Not bad," the manager said, while I pulled down the paper.

He stared at the first shot, the bullseye, just long enough to make me know he hadn't missed the fact that I purposefully let the other shots go wide. I waited from him to say something, but he didn't, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Lola was too busy squealing about my magnificent aim, and fortunately that seemed to cover the awkward silence between the manager and myself.

"I'll be with those two," jerking his head at Chip and Lisa, waiting behind us. "Chris is helping the two guys." The manager left for his own lane; I turned to find Felicia and Lola, ear and eye protection already in place, and both looking as eager as if I'd promised chocolate and ice cream.

"Me first," Felicia said, stepping right up. She opened the metal box with the range's loaner .45, and her fingers hovered over it for a second before gingerly lifting it up. "First, I check...safety. The safety is..." She stared at the side of the gun.

"That thing," Lola offered, pointing.

"Safety is off," Felicia announced loudly, making sure to point the gun down, towards the table. "And next...I..."

"Drop the mag," I told her, and grinned. I hit the button for the new target paper to move along the line, stopping it at twenty feet distance. "That's the—"

"Magazine," Felicia said. She grimaced, then squeezed tighter, almost yelping when the magazine dropped out from the bottom of the gun's handle. I caught it, and handed it to her with a smile. She set it down on the table, as delicately as possible before studying the gun again. "And now I rack the slide."

"I like that phrase," Lola whispered. "Rack the slide."

"Shut up, I'm thinking here," Felicia retorted.

I leaned against the barrier, watching intently, correcting her as needed and the rest of the time giving her space to do everything at her own speed. Felicia turned out to have decent aim, and once she'd gotten past flinching with every shot, she settled her hands down on the wrist mat and fired off several quick shots.

After her, Lola went, equally intimidated but just as fast to get the hang of it, and I switched to the body outline target sheets. I demurred when they asked if I wanted to have a go, but they didn't protest too much, which made me chuckle behind them.

We'd been there almost an hour, working our way through a number of target sheets—all of which both women insisted they were saving. I noticed Lisa and Chip seemed to be doing well, and over on the fifth lane, it appeared Vin was a natural at crack shots, while Mike flailed too much when he pulled the trigger. I kept most of my attention on Felicia and Lola, showing them different stances and letting them get completely comfortable with the firearm.

"Backseat shooter," a dry voice said behind me, and I stiffened. I knew that voice, but just as quickly discounted it. There was no way.

"I'm spotting," I said, without looking around. I didn't want to confirm the suspicion.

"Or maybe you've lost your touch," came the answer, and the man stepped up beside me. I glanced to the side, and had to take a deep breath to regain my composure.

"Yuy. You're a long way from home."

He shrugged. "I was in the neighborhood."

I leaned against the barrier, keeping my voice low so Felicia and Lola didn't hear. They were discussing the stance I'd shown them. The gun was on the table, magazine ejected, and the two were pantomiming the stance, then turning around and trying to mock-aim with their less predominant hand.

"How did you find me?" I slanted a look sideways at him.

"Talkative landlady." He was a few inches shorter than me, but that dark brown tousled mop of hair still masked his blue eyes. I caught a flash as he glanced at me, then at the two young women.

Felicia turned around, saw him, looked at me, and smiled widely. "Come'on, Cat, have a go," she coaxed.

"I'm spotting," I reminded her.

"I can spot," Heero said. "Go on."

"No, really, I'm—"

"You got a bullseye on one of your shots," Lola interrupted. She pointed at the rolls of used targets, neatly rubber-banded. "I bet you could do it again if you tried."

"Out of how many?" Heero glanced at the target sheets, and back at Lola.

"Three," she answered, her brow crinkling in mild confusion. "Cat?"

"Nothing," I said, wishing there was a polite way to ask Heero what the hell he was doing in Chicago. Not exactly high on the list of Preventers hang-outs.

"Three, and only one bullseye." Heero snorted, glaring levelly at Lola and Felicia until they backed out of the lane and into the watching stretch behind the lanes. He stepped forward, glanced at me, and arched an eyebrow before the expression faded into the one I remembered on Sandrock's screens. One smooth move of unholster, cock, and fire. He emptied the entire magazine into the target, slammed the gun down on the table and hit the lane button. The target paper swayed as it was pulled forward.

I nearly growled. I should back down, I told myself, but Heero had come into my lane, with my friends present, and just shown me up. Some stupidly masculine part of myself remembered the awe I'd once held for him—and still did—and was furious he'd just shown me up. I kept my hands in my pockets, and glared right back at him.

He ripped down the paper target and tossed it aside, but it was enough for me to confirm there were five shots through the head, and another five through the heart. No scatter pattern. He set up another target paper, glancing once over his shoulder at me. It infuriated me, and I narrowed my eyes. He refused to back down, his lips quirking into that smirk I remembered so well. I'd never had it turned on me full-bore, though, and I didn't like it in the least.

"Get out of my way, Yuy," I snarled. He stepped back, not even bothering to raise his hands in mock surrender.

I held out my hand, and one of his eyebrows quirked. He hesitated a half-second, then nodded curtly, and unholstered his gun. A second magazine appeared from the inner pocket of his Preventers jacket; he jammed it home, racked the slide, and held out the gun, butt-first. I pulled out my own gun, flipped off the safety and racked the slide before taking his as well. Turning to face the target, I brought up the guns and fired. I didn't need to aim anymore than he had. My hands and body and mind told the bullets where to go.

Four bullets flew, and the target's kneecaps were destroyed.

Four bullets pulverized the target's shoulders.

Two more shots from each gun, and the target's hips were shattered.

Two shots, four bullets, straight into the target's head.

And the last four bullets were centered on the target's heart.

The slides slammed open as the last bullets flew. I spun, slamming both guns down on the table. Heero merely smiled. He picked up his own gun, popping out the empty magazine and tucking it away with the other. He ignored the two girls standing behind him, gaping, and I did my best to do so as well. I didn't expect him to invite me for coffee—hell, I didn't expect him to visit—but this? I felt played, but I couldn't blame him. I could've just said no, but damn it...I wasn't sure if I wanted to swear at him, or my own damn pride.

Heero opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. The uncharacteristic hesitation caught me off-guard long enough to really look at him, but all I could feel was waves of confusion in the wrinkle in his brow, the flex of his left hand, hanging at his side. He dropped his eyes, masking that sterling blue in his classic implied bow, turned on his heel, and strode from the range.

Damn it, Yuy, I thought, watching his unbroken stride from the firing range. He didn't look back, and somehow that hurt more than his unspoken taunt with the target paper. What the hell was he playing at? I was growling again, and bit back the sound when I noticed Felicia and Lola staring at me, wide-eyed. Chip popped his head out of his lane, and whistled.

"Remind me not to piss you off," he said, his awed whisper almost lost under the gunfire from the other lanes. "Fuck, man, you can  _shoot_."

I dropped my head, looking down at the gun in my hand.

"Not really," I muttered, wrapping my hand around the grip, the metal warm from my fury. "Just lucky, I guess."


	3. Chapter 3

_He carries the gift in one hand, and stops in the next shop, an ice cream parlor. It's just opened for the morning, and the boy behind the counter doesn't bother to hide a yawn as he waits for Quatre to pick a flavor._

_"Peanut butter brittle," Quatre says, and smiles to himself. It's an old flavor, one full of memories and richness and all the calories Marie is always telling him he shouldn't eat. But he works out, takes care of himself, and dutifully eats those salads she always orders for the lunch meetings. He's no longer surrounded by people paid to tell him he looks good; he wonders if that's why he takes Marie's chiding with such grace._

_He tucks the gift under his arm, digging in his pocket for a few credits to pay the boy, and accepts the loaded ice cream cone with careful fingers. He ponders walking outside with it, and changes his mind. He has time, for once, to sit and enjoy rather than do two things at once._

_Quatre sets the gift before him, and bites into the ice cream, wincing as the cold rushes through his teeth into his bones. It makes him laugh, and he digs out the gift with one hand. Fiddling with the box, he turns it over in his fingers._

_It's the size and weight of a half-loaded Ruger magazine, and he sighs._

_I'll spend the rest of my life with that metaphor, he thinks, and carefully puts the gift away. He doesn't want to taint it again with the way his mind works._

 

 

 

I wouldn't say the mood was subdued after Heero left. Subdued is how you feel when all the forces of Oz and the Alliance are converging on your shoreline, and it's only a matter of time before they get there and pummel you into dust. The mood among my friends was closer to quiet, and somewhat hesitant.

That is, until Lola, Felicia, and Lisa started squealing about my marksmanship.

I helped Felicia and Lola organize their rolled-up target papers, and sent them off to the post-shooting class, where they'd learn how to clean and store a gun properly. After they left for their class, I could feel the manager watching me, but he didn't say anything, and I didn't offer. I simply reloaded my empty magazine from the ammunition the girls had bought, and pocketed the few remaining rounds.

The classroom was on the way towards the exit, and I was startled to see Vin leaning against the wall. He looked up, and I realized he must have been waiting for me. I tensed, stopping a few feet away, and he gave me that lazy frat-boy smile.

"Which side," he said, and it wasn't so much a question as an assumption there had been sides.

"Mine," I told him.

"We figured," he replied. He didn't say anything else, and it took a moment for his words to sink in.

I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"They're not stupid, Cat. They didn't fight, but they've met those of us who did." Vin shook his head. "I was in much worse shape than you when I got here. I guess those Preventer friends helped you?"

"Something like that," I said, thinking of Duo, and Trowa. Not Preventers, but called in on enough missions like myself that perhaps their insistence on healing could stretch the truth to include the organization. I moved a few steps closer, still wary, and leaned against the wall next to Vin.

"Learned to shoot when I was sixteen," he said. "Alliance soldiers took over the town in Italy where I grew up, and I came home from school to find them raping my mother. My sister was supposed to be next. I tussled with one, got his gun, and found guns are easier than people realize. Point, pull, and... " He shrugged, sighing. "It's the aftermath that's harder."

"You regret it?"

"Sometimes... " His lips curled, in a sardonic twist. "But the truth is that I regret only that I couldn't make them suffer longer for what they did to my family."

I nodded.

"But... " He pushed away from the wall, and gave me a lopsided grin. "They... " He jerked his head towards the closed classroom door. "... Don't know the details, and don't need to."

"Why'd you tell me?"

"Because I suspect you've been through even worse." Vin raised a hand, in a casual wave, as he walked backwards towards the exit. "Leave it behind. Be a college guy, because it's a hell of a lot better than living with ghosts. At least now, you only have to live with cheap beer and academic pricks."

I laughed, softly, feeling the gun at the base of my spine. "Yeah. I suppose."

 

 

 

When I got back to my apartment, I opened the door to find a piece of paper had been slid under the door. Its pristine white accused me, laying against the cheap wooden parquet. Locking the door behind me, I stepped around the letter, only returning once I'd removed my boots, put my jacket on the nail by the door, and slid my gun under my pillow.

Then I crouched down next to it. I knew I was acting as if it would bite, but I couldn't help it. Still hesitant, I picked up the folded note and flipped it open.

_Quatre. I was in town for a conference. Duo told me to look you up. No offense meant. Heero._

That was it. No explanation, just the barest apology. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or rip up the letter and throw the bits onto the fire escape for the wind to catch and carry off.

Oh, Heero. You always were one who kept such a tight lid on your words, as if they'd betray you, distilling your explanations down to the barest amount. It works in person, where I could read you, see the gestures, the faint arch of an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile, and know what you were saying behind your few words. But that doesn't work on paper.

I imagined Une must hate his reports.

That made me smile, for real, and I found myself tucking the paper away in the shoebox from buying my boots. It already held the stack of my favorite sketches, and my exams from Sanskrit. Replacing the shoebox in its little corner, I rearranged the dirty clothes on top, as camouflage. It wasn't security, but that wasn't the issue. I wanted to save the memories, but not see the evidence of their existence.

After a minute, I thought better of it, and moved the shoebox to the top shelve over the sink. Then I gathered up all my dirty laundry, checked my little yogurt cup for change, and went down to the basement to do my wash.

 

 

 

The call came a week later, and I wasn't surprised. I'd been expecting it, pretty much ever since reading Heero's note.

"Duo," I said.

"Yeah!" Duo sounded surprised, but his next words were suspicious. "What's into you, man?"

"Into me?" I rolled over on my stomach and looked at the notes scattered across the room. "Sanskrit, currently. Next, macroeconomics. You?"

"I talked to Heero." Duo always was an upfront kind of person. At least, he was when it was your ass that needed grinding. If it was his, he could be cagey in ways that defied current technology to measure. "He said you were angry to see him."

"I wasn't expecting him at the range," I allowed.

"He said you weren't even shooting," Duo shot back. "And you got all pissy on him when he—"

"Maxwell," I interrupted. "He came in while I was teaching two friends and just ignored them and acted—"

"You were teaching?" Duo's tone turned reflective, then he muttered, "bastard didn't mention that."

"No, of course not," I said, groaning. "The last thing Yuy would ever notice is the two pretty girls in eye and ear protection hovering over the range's loaner gun."

There was a heartbeat of silence.

"Pretty?"

"Uh."

"Two of them?" Duo turned sly. "Oh, I see. You thought he was going to cut in on the action."

"Yuy?" I snorted. "Don't even."

"Winner, I don't know what happened, really. I just told him as long as he was attending the recruitment conference that he should look you up. But he came home with his tail between his legs and avoided my calls until this morning. Whatever you said or did, you really smashed him one."

I know that  _now_ , I thought, a little sourly.

Duo was silent, waiting.

"I don't know," I finally said. "He just showed up... and was acting like a prick."

"He's Yuy, man, he's always on the defensive. You didn't used to let it get to you."

"I know. It's just that... it's different, now." I rolled over on my back, resting my head on the Sanskrit text book, and stared at the water stains on the ceiling. "It's not like... " When I was running the show, held the cards...

"When you were on your own turf," Duo finished for me. I grunted, and he sighed heavily. It echoed through the phone, down into my bones. "Speaking of which, Heero told me about your apartment."

I tensed. There hadn't been any signs of entry. I must have been quiet for too long, because Duo sighed again.

"Stop thinking that, Quatre. He didn't go in. But he said it was... it sounds like... you're living somewhere kinda... questionable."

"It's fine."

"You grew up with houses that had at least three staircases, and you're living in an old tenement with junkies hanging on the front steps? Gang graffiti, gun shots, and a burnt-out hulk of a car right by your building?"

I didn't have an answer to that. I could only murmur something like an acknowledgement, without agreeing outright. It was true. That was the kind of neighborhood I lived in. So?

"That doesn't seem right, Quatre," Duo said, his voice dropping into a whisper. It was a light note, as though teasing, but I knew him well enough to know it was the closest he'd come to expressing the true extent of his worry. "There have got to be safer places on campus, or a little farther away... "

"I wanted to be within walking distance," I replied stubbornly. "And on-campus housing is only for freshmen."

"You walk?" Duo's response was nearly a squawk. "I thought you brought your car! You're walking home in the dark after class in—"

"I am not five!" I shot up with the force of my yell. "I am perfectly capable of defending myself, damn it. Yes! It's a bad neighborhood, but I like it!"

Duo hissed through his teeth. "You... like it?"

I realized my mistake instantly, but couldn't back down. "Yes," I said, begrudgingly.

"Must be fun, hunh," he snapped, the hurt bringing out his accent. "Playin' at bein' poor, like you can live a little on th' other side."

"It's not like—"

"What is it like, Winner?" The use of my last name stung me almost as much as the anger in his voice. "You don't have to do stuff like this. Whattaya trying to prove? That yer one of us? Why the hell would ya wanna be? Ya have more, ya can have more, there's no reason fer ya to be living with junkies an' gangs an'—"

I was a Gundam Pilot, too, I wanted to yell. I am not some defenseless, weak-willed individual who will crumble at the first sign of difficulty, damn it. But the truth is, Duo knew all that. And I knew that wasn't what had him most upset, no matter what his words said, I knew him well enough to guess the real reason. He'd spent his life dragging himself out of the dirt of his upbringing, shaping himself into someone respected, capable... someone who could walk away from that world. It wasn't that I was pretending, or that as a rich boy I wasn't allowed. It was that he couldn't separate his childhood long enough to see that I wouldn't follow the same path.

"I'm nineteen, Duo," I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible. "I'm not going to end up on the streets just because the neighborhood is bad."

"But—"

"Let's talk about something else, please. Or maybe we should just cut this short," I added, feeling a bit cruel. "And try again some other time." When you're not so damned insistent on lecturing me all the way back to my gilded cage.

"No!" Duo's answer was quick, but followed by a moment of silence. I knew he was gathering his thoughts, forcing the smile back on his face, so I waited. Eventually he came through, that cheerful tone a little forced, but still there. "So you were teaching two pretty girls how to shoot? You get a job at the range or something?"

"No, just spotting them." I sank back down on the bed, trying to relax. If I didn't, everything would still sound tense, and it wasn't like he could see me. Thinking that reminded me of Heero, and I had to take a long breath before I could work past the frustration. Damn it, why are old friends so unwilling to accept me, when my new friends could gloss right over, accept something as just the way I am, and move along? "No," I repeated, "one of my friends was mugged at gun-point, so I talked her into taking lessons. She's buying a gun next week—"

"She was mugged?"

I tensed, expecting Duo to launch into another rant about how little rich boys didn't belong in bad neighborhoods, but his next comment startled me.

"And your first reaction was to tell her to buy a gun?"

"Uh... yeah," I answered, baffled by the tired amusement in his voice. "What?"

"Good god, Quatre, you're almost as much a moron as Yuy. A gun. You told the girl to buy a  _gun_?"

"I made sure she'd know how to shoot it and take care of it," I replied, a bit defensively. I couldn't help it. He sounded like he was somewhere between laughing and sighing melodramatically.

"Did it ever occur to you that there might be a better solution?"

I blinked. "Uh... "

"Didn't think so," Duo muttered. "Everything may look like a nail to you with that frickin' hammer in your hand, but on the streets, you pull a gun, you're escalating things to the point of no return. A newbie with a gun... bad news. She may walk taller and straighter but it's going to scream 'I've got a gun!' to everyone in three blocks, and they won't hesitate to pull their piece on her first, before she can even blink."

Again, all I could manage was an inarticulate sound. That hadn't occurred to me. "But... "

"Hell, you could tell her to not wear shoes she can't run in. And teach her to walk like she means business. And to make sure she walks with others, and takes a cab if she's got the least bit of sense when the sun goes down." Duo sounded like he was ticking off the options on his fingers. "Send her to martial arts classes, so she can learn to disarm an attacker. It's not that guns are bad, but they're not the  _first_ answer and they're not the  _only_  answer, so better she be barehanded and confident, than pull a gun and getting shot by someone faster and better. All it takes is once, Quatre, and damn if you aren't the most idiotic asshole I know outside of Yuy and here I thought you had some common sense."

I mumbled something, and Duo hummed knowingly. He'd won that final round. He knew it, I knew it, and there was no reason to rub it in. Okay, so he sounded a little smug for the remainder of the conversation, but I could mostly ignore that with gritted teeth. I'd been a fool, and I'd fix it, once I had a chance to consider the situation more carefully.

When I hung up the phone, I could only stare at my Sanskrit notes. None of it mattered suddenly, in the darkening light of late day. Hell, it looked like Greek to me, with my mind stuck in the rolling tones of Duo's lectures. Heero, upset because he thought he'd offended me so badly, or perhaps because he thought he'd damaged our friendship? I still wasn't sure. Duo, pissed that I was living in quarters less than perfect, and a little betrayed that I'd move backwards when he'd spent his life trying to move forwards. That made my stomach clench, that he couldn't see past his own nose, and history, to understand that wasn't my point.

Or maybe it is, I thought, but shoved that away. I'm not doing this to make a point. It's just the cheapest apartment, within a good distance, and I can defend myself, anyway. There's nothing this neighborhood can throw at me that I didn't see or fight or defend during the wars.

I stared at the scroll, and wondered what Wufei thought of all this. I'd heard nothing from Trowa, but that was no surprise. When traveling with the circus, he was notoriously bad at keeping in touch. Only Duo—to no one's surprise—could track Trowa down with any consistency. But Wufei... he'd not lectured me, or challenged me, but only wished me the best.

At least, I hoped that's what his gift meant. By that point, I was ready to doubt even that. Two so far didn't seem to like the version of me that was coming out. Wrong life, wrong attitude, wrong...

Oh, fuck. It didn't make much sense, and I really didn't have the time for in-depth introspection. And now I wasn't in the mood to worry about Sanskrit even with an exam the next day. Shoving the notes away, I grabbed a notebook at random, flipped it open to a back page, and began to draw.

I wasn't very good at it, but it was one of the few times I could be free.

 

 

 

"One hot tea, double-tea bag, two creams, no sugar."

The cup was set down in front of my nose, and I looked past it to see Felicia dropping into the seat opposite me, with her own coffee in hand. Latte, I guessed; skim milk. She grinned at me, and tossed her head until I realized the change.

"Your hair... " Her grin grew wider, and I leaned across the table, my hand out. Her chin-length hair was now past her shoulders, in hundreds of small braids, each with several colorful beads on the end. "May I... ?"

"Sure," she said, and rolled her eyes.

"Wow," I told her. The braids felt slick, and shone in the library lights. "That's so cool. How long did that take and... " I frowned, bewildered. "Wait... where did all the extra hair come from?"

Felicia laughed. "Braided in, silly. A little bit of glue," she flipped a few braids at me, and the beads clinked. "And if you had hair that was African, you could do this too." She leaned across the table and ruffled my hair, and I swatted at her hand. "Actually, maybe you could. Your hair is a lot coarser than it looks. And it's got a bit of curl, so maybe... "

She narrowed her eyes at me, and I tried to imagine myself with hundreds of little Duo-braids. I snorted, and shoved the Structural Engineering text at her. "Come on, we've got an hour before class."

"Boy. You sound thrilled about it, too." She dutifully flipped open her own book, turning to the pages we'd covered in the last class. She dutifully flipped open her own book, turning to the pages we'd covered in the last class. "If you hate it... "

"I don't." I dug out my notes, and spread them across the table. "Just... it's kinda boring."

Felicia rolled her eyes. "You are so the overachiever, asshole."

I couldn't help it. I bristled. "Am not."

She was quiet for a minute, arranging her homework before letting me take a look at it. Shuffling the papers a few times, she set them down in a neat stack, and leaned her elbow on them, preventing me from sliding them away from her.

"Cat. A lot of stuff comes easy to you, doesn't it."

"Ah... " I froze, and wondered if my face was turning red under her blunt scrutiny. "Not really. Not always... "

"Oh. Maybe once, twice in your life it was a little hard?" She twisted a braid around her fingers, then back the opposite direction. The beads clattered.

"More than that." I scowled and reached for the papers again.

"Want to know why I'm studying engineering, Cat?" Felicia leaned her weight on the papers. I grunted, trying to pry them out from under her arm. "Because I fucking  _suck_  at it."

"You do not," I retorted, surprised enough to let go of the papers. "You just need to—"

"I need to a lot of things, Cat, but I like engineering. I'm also pathetic at it, but when I work that hard and I succeed, it feels ten times better than anything else. Don't you get it?" Felicia dropped the braid and stabbed a finger at me. "That's the whole point of college. Drink things you'd never get at home, sleep with people your parents would pay you to avoid, and try stuff you just might fail miserably because it's the one damn time in your life you'll have a safety net to give it a shot."

"A safety net?" I blinked, thinking of Trowa's high-wire routines. He didn't use one, did he?

"Yes. There are people to catch you if you fall, so jump." Felicia shoved the papers at me with a disgusted look. "Seems to me all your classes are stuff you can just slide right on through. You take notes but I've never seen you really check them, and most of the time you seem to get what Riley's saying before she's even opened her mouth, I think. I'm amazed you haven't shriveled up and died of boredom."

There's no one to catch me if I fall, I thought. The only thing that's going to catch me is a desk job, nine-to-five, forty to eighty hours a week, staring at reports and numbers and rushing from pointless meeting to pointless meeting... that's what's waiting for me. That's my fuckin' safety net.

I shook my head, not willing to meet Felicia's eyes. "Maybe. But I know what I'm doing. I don't need to—"

"I don't think so." Felicia cocked her head at me, sweeping the braids over her shoulder with a practiced air. "I think you need more than Sanskrit to scare the shit out of you, make you realize that whatever you did during the war wasn't the biggest excitement in your life, that there's—"

I raised my gaze, and she froze, a pained look coming over her face. We'd never discussed it, and after that day at the range, it had been one of those things that just settled into the no-man's-land I was learning occupied a great deal of a friendship. But to hear her say it out loud triggered the same defensive reaction as Heero's challenge.

"You have no idea what I experienced during the war, Felicia," I told her, in a cold voice. "Don't presume you can."

"Then I'll tell you what I experienced," she replied. Her chin wavered, but her eyes were clear. "I was sixteen and my colony was evacuated. My parents were botanists in the hydroponics labs. A Gundam announced it would blow us out of the sky, and we had five hours to get the hell out. Me, my parents, and my little brother, and thousands of our friends, neighbors, classmates, coworkers. Five hours, to evacuate." Her eyes had gone distant, and I felt like there were entire galaxies of pain hiding in the darkness of her pupils. She sighed, and shifted her gaze back to mine. I know my jaw was open, and she smiled, just a little. "Our entire lives, destroyed, by one machine, one person... "

"Felicia," I whispered. I resisted the urge to clutch at my chest. The waves of pain and memory faded as I called her name, and I couldn't tell which was her remembered fear or my never-forgotten regret.

"Nothing is safe, Cat." Felicia shoved her homework across the table at me. "War teaches us a lot of things, but one thing it should teach us is that life is too precious to take the easy way. Peace ain't easy, y'know?" She stared down at the textbook, a wry smile twisting her lips. "That's all we heard after the war. But truth is, life ain't easy, either."

I could barely form the words. "What do I do?" The question had one meaning, and a thousand.

"Stop being afraid," she said, "because when your life's Gundam comes along and blows all your tightly-held preconceptions out the window, you probably won't be ready. But at least you won't be scared."

"I... "

She tilted her head at me, one eyebrow raised.

"Maybe," I offered, hoarsely, "you are my... " ... _Sandrock_... " ...Gundam."

Felicia took a deep breath and stood up. Coming around the table, she hugged me tightly around my neck, and I was too startled to react. Her braids slid across my cheek, the cool metal beads thumping lightly on my collarbone. With one hand, she reached out and pulled my engineering notebook closer. Flipping through it, she opened it to a portrait of her, laughing in class. Next to it was a picture of Dr. Riley's hand, holding up the midterms.

"There's only one thing on this page that truly scares you, Cat," Felicia whispered in my ear. "And it's not the numbers and equations." She hugged me once more, and pulled away. "Gonna take a walk, and I'll be back in a few," she announced, and left.

I stared at the page for a long time. In my mind's eye, I could see Sandrock's door opening, beckoning me into the world even as I self-destructed him. For years, I'd regretted that secretly, knowing that bereft of Sandrock, I'd built Wing Zero and had wrecked such destruction in my ignorance—and arrogance.

Perhaps, in some strange way, Felicia's words—although she herself might not have known the full impact—were another escape hatch. Fleeing one world, and facing another no better or worse than the first, she gave me a third choice.

I picked up my pencil and began drawing.

 

 

 

Lisa poked at the pizza, and reached across me to grab a handful of napkins. She patted furiously at her slices, making a face when she pulled back the napkins to reveal they were soaked with grease.

"I can feel my arteries hardening just looking at this crap," she fussed.

"You're twenty. You can't have hard arteries, yet," Chip retorted. He flipped open the second box and pulled out two more slices, handing one to me.

"Like hell," Lisa said. "Okay. Are we going to get started on the final project? Oh, and did someone bring any beer?"

"I did," I said. "It's in the fridge."

"There was room?" Felicia snorted, and continued picking the green peppers off her slice. "Or is Chip cutting back?"

"Me?" Chip pretended to be wounded. "Saving my pennies for the lab course next semester."

We were sitting around the table in his apartment., which I'd noted was easily three times as large as mine and four times as messy. He shared it with several other juniors, and it made me wonder how much Duo must've cleaned the two times I'd come to visit him, if this was par for the course.

"You got in?" Lisa sighed. "I'm on the wait-list. Damn the stupid administration, they always have to list only two classes and then act surprised when five hundred people try to squeeze in."

"The benefits of having a last name that starts at the beginning of the alphabet," Chip declared.

"Don't remind me," I said, around a bite of pizza. "My last name sucks some times."

Felicia snorted. "You could change your name to Loser and you'd make it halfway up the list."

"Bitch." I threw a piece of green pepper at her. It stuck in one of her braids, and Lola nearly choked on her own slice from laughing. Chip pounded her on the back.

"Enough, damn, don't break my ribs," Lola said, once she got her breath back. She shoved Chip away. "Go molest someone else."

Lisa looked hopeful, and Chip blushed. I rolled my eyes, and Felicia threw me a sideways grin. Eventually perhaps Felicia, Lola and I would get disgusted enough and just lock those two in a closet and let them figure it out. Until then, we had to resort to snickering at opportune times.

"Winner," Lola said, getting up to open the fridge. I tensed. "Too bad you're not on the good side of the family, or you'd be bringing better beer." She swung the door open to reveal two six packs from a local brewery.

"What? I like that beer!" I went for indignant, hoping to sidetrack her from any more teasing about my family name. She didn't do it that often, but perhaps the cold glare she got was prevention enough. Either that, or she figured I resented not getting to share in my so-called distant relatives' wealth.

"Naw, chill, Cat, I know you're not one of them," she drawled, bringing one of the six-packs to the table and setting several out. "You, for instance, are not a pansy."

"A... " I know my eyebrows shot up to my hairline. Chip made a snorting sound, and now it was Lola's turn to pound him on the back. Felicia just looked smug, while Lisa giggled. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"Well, like that pretty boy," Felicia said, grabbing another slice of pizza. "What's his name. The one with the bodyguards... "

Suddenly I found my beer label very interesting, the way it was curling at the edges. "Hunh," I said, not sure whether it would be interpreted as 'tell me more' or 'I couldn't care less' and hoping she went for the latter.

"Quatre Raberba Winner," Lisa answered, nodding. "I've seen his picture in the mags. I can't believe you're related to him," she said, shaking her head. "He's such a... "

"Momma's boy," Lola answered.

"None of you guys have ever met him in person," Chip pointed out. "What's with girls and gossip, anyway?"

"Oh, and you never chatter on for hours about stock racing teams and who's doing what to what car and who's changing to what team," Lola retorted.

"That's different." Chip made a face and busied himself opening the bottle of beer for Lisa.

"Sure." Lola threw her beer cap at him. "Naw, see, Cat, you're like... " She waved the hand that held her pizza slice. "Someone who kicks ass and takes names. I bet you don't even know how to tie a tie!" She laughed, and Felicia joined her.

I do, too, I grumbled silently. Six different ways, and a bowtie, too. And I wasn't a momma's boy, either. I didn't tell the Maganacs to go with me everywhere, they just decided on that themselves. I frowned at my beer, wondering when the label had been completely removed.

"Oh, don't get us wrong," Felicia said, consoling, her hand on my arm. "We're sure you have a really nice family. It's just certain elements that... well, I'd bet that guy's never done a hard day's work in his life. He's soft, y'know? Too pretty."

"Pretty," I repeated, puzzled.

"Yeah." Lisa shrugged. "Girls don't like pretty boys."

"Never date someone prettier than you," Lisa agreed.

"Maybe I should change my last name," I pondered, half to myself.

"It's a perfectly fine last name," Chip said. "Don't listen to these bitches. They'll make you paranoid, man."

I was struck with the sudden urge to get as far away as possible from the image of myself, a year before, entering or leaving some restaurant with three Maganacs in tow. While wearing a suit, no less, with white-blond hair curling a little and that stupidly innocent and gentle smile pasted on my face that I'd adopted during the war to confuse the opposition. No one suspects the baby face, I always used to say, and Duo proved in his adaptation that I was right; we both had that pattern of defense.

Maybe it's time to get rid of the baby face, too. Lisa nudged me, and I gave her an apologetic smile.

"We didn't mean to pick on you," Lisa said. "Just seems weird, y'know, to know someone distantly related to so much wealth."

"I'm not going to start handing out limousines," I replied.

"Why bother?" Felicia cackled. "In this neighborhood, it'd be stripped in twenty seconds!"

"Ten, on this side of campus," Chip replied.

"I want to do something... different," I said, glancing sideways at Felicia. She frowned, pausing with her beer halfway to her lips, and raised her eyebrows at me. "Something," I explained, "to get away from even the remote taint of that category." I snorted, derisive, at the thought of being considered pretty.

"Oh," Lola said, with a knowing smile. "There's lots of things. Bet that rich side of your family doesn't ride motorcycles, for starters."

"Or have tattoos," Chip suggested.

"Or piercings," Lola crooned. "Piercings are... " She sighed, a glazed look coming into her eyes.

"What? Do you have any?" Chip looked mostly baffled, the expression deepening as Lola blushed bright red. "What? You do! Show!"

"I'm not showing you," she muttered, hunkering down in her seat. "It's personal."

"I've always wanted a tattoo," Lisa commented, taking more napkins to pat at her third slice of pizza. "Just don't know what I'd get."

'04' would probably be too obvious, I thought. So would 'Sandrock'. But... I glanced around the table. "I think I want to get a piercing," I announced.

The entire table went silent, their faces gaping. Chip was the first to move, shooting up from his seat with a hell.

"School project later, Cat project, now!"

Next thing I knew, I was being dragged down his hallway, a girl on each arm, and Chip shoving at me from behind. The drawback, of course, was that with Lola tugging on one hand and Felicia on the other while Lisa led the way, I couldn't get my hand free long enough to finish my beer.

 

 

 

It felt like I was staring at a deluxe version of the three monkeys. Lisa had her hands over her ears, and Felicia was covering her mouth. Chip had a hand to his head, still laughing, while Lola looked both worried and smug.

"Wow," was all I managed, swaying a little in the door. "It feels... " I started to shrug, felt the bandages against my chest, and winced. "It's... wow."

"Adrenalin rush," Lola told the others. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and got up, approaching me as carefully as though I were a wild feline. "So... can we see?"

I blinked at her, and without thinking twice, pulled up my shirt.

"What happened to just getting your ears pierced?" Felicia gave me a puzzled look.

"The guy talked me into it," I told her, still holding up my shirt. "I was going to do just one, but he said better to do both, so I didn't feel lopsided, or something." I shrugged. He was the expert, after all, right? I was just the guinea pig. Or something. That seemed to be the most I could manage, mentally, with the blood still pounding in my ears. 'Or something.'

Lisa stood up to see better, and scowled. "Hey, there're bandages in the way."

"That's all? Just your nipples?" Felicia snorted. "I would've thought—"

Chip made a choking sound and crossed his legs suddenly. "Don't you be talking about putting holes in other places. It was bad enough with you three looking at pictures for the past hour." He did look a little green.

"Two isn't enough?" I made a face at Felicia, and she grinned, unrepentant. I took a step forward and the room tilted. Damn, it felt just like the first time I'd run a training program on Sandrock. Like every blood vessel in my body was wide-open, pumping blood at mach one while my stomach did flip-flops. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to go run five miles or throw up.

"Whoa, Cat, sit down," Lisa said, and I was guided to the sofa while the three girls hovered around me.

"I think he needs more beer," Chip said, peering over Lisa's shoulder.

"Beer good," I managed, gasping.

 

 

 

The drawback was that in class on Monday, the three girls kept staring at my chest. I complained until Lola pointed out that now I knew what it was like to be female and wear a low-cut shirt. Disgruntled, I slunk down in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest, but had to shift positions when the pressure on the metal made my entire chest throb strangely. The worst, of course, was that now any pressure on my nipples shot straight to my groin. Thanks for erogenous zones, which are normally great things unless you're trying to focus on structural engineering projects and not walk around feeling like you're fifteen again.

It was a little annoying, but I hoped it'd pass.

What wouldn't pass were the glances between the girls, punctuated by long-suffering sighs from Chip. I managed to ignore all of them until the end of class, when Lola's teasing caught my ears.

"We timed this all wrong," she murmured to Felicia. "We're moving into sweater weather. It'll be months before we have an excuse to see him bare-chested!"

My face went hot instantly. I threw my bag over my shoulder, muttered my excuses and fled. Didn't help much, though, and I wondered if that notorious girl-gossip tendency extended as far as my private life. It felt as though every girl between one class and the next was staring at my chest.

Well, I told myself, trying to look on the bright side. At least it's not a neon sign that says, Gundam Pilot Here. I scratched my head, made a note that it was time to get more dye for my hair, and wondered whether a neon sign of Pierced Both Nipples On Saturday Night was really that much of an improvement.

 

 

 

Everything healed, including my self-image, once the bandages were off and I had gotten over the paranoia of being convinced every person on campus was staring at my chest. Classes continued, and I signed up for the next semester with the rest of the sophomore class. I still had one more semester before I had to declare a major, and signed up for more general education requirements. I didn't have to choose a major for another semester. I had time.

The weather turned bitter cold, with little snow but days of driving rain and brutal wind, whipping the rain sideways and making umbrellas an experiment in utter pointlessness. After several weeks of watching me enter class soaking wet and shivering, Lola took matters into her own hands. We'd just finished a major review class for the upcoming final, when she snagged my shoulder and started hauling me through the departing students.

"We're going shopping," she announced. "You need a coat."

"I have one," I protested.

She gave me a look that would've curled Gundanium, and I shut up, knowing when I was defeated. She kept that tight hold on my arm anyway. Outside the building, we bent over, twisting against the wind and pelting rain, heading off campus for the small strip of stores nearby. One of them was a clothing outlet, and she threw the door open and shoved me in unceremoniously.

"Hey, no need to get pushy," I said.

"Sure there is, if it's forty-two outside and you're wearing a jeans jacket." Lola pushed her wet hair out of her face and narrowed her eyes at me. "What's your budget?"

It took a second to process, before I blurted out a number I could manage if I ate nothing but macaroni and cheese for the next month. That was okay, actually; for all Duo's complaints about the meal, I happened to love it. I didn't have to work half as hard to stay in shape on that diet as I'd had when stuffing down four course meals every day for lunch. Plus, the directions were really easy.

"Okay, follow me," Lola commanded, and I dutifully dripped my way through the racks of men's coats. She pursed her lips, measuring me up, and divested me of my jacket and bag, dropping them by her feet. "Try this on," she said.

The first was thigh-length, and brown, and she stared at it for a second before telling me to take it off. The next was black, and hip length, but a little narrow around the shoulders. I don't know what the next ten looked like; they all sort of blended together in a blur of Lola handing me coats, making me turn in a circle, and then telling me to ditch one and try the next.

I was ready to lie down on the floor and beg for mercy when she surprised me by clapping her hands and smiling brightly. "Oh, that's perfect," she purred, and I turned in another circle, still half-convinced she was going to tear it off and thrust another coat at me.

"It's... what?" I stared down at it, smoothing the thick black wool with my hands, and gave her a puzzled look. "What's different between it and the others?"

"Men," Lola snorted, coming closer. She steered me towards a mirror. Standing behind me, her nose was just barely visible over my shoulder when she stood on tiptoes. "The shoulders are broad enough for you, and the double-breast will keep rain and wind from getting in." Her hands came around my chest, smoothing down the coat, tugging a little at the front while she buttoned it up. "And the cuffs are long enough for your arms, and it goes in just a little at the waist and hips, with a bit of flare, and the ankle-length with your height... " She sighed, pleased, and I gave her a crooked smile. It looked the same as four others she'd told me to try on, but if she was that ecstatic about it, I figured arguing would only delay the torture.

"Okay, fine," I said, shrugging. I turned in her arms, and grinned down at her. "Pleased with yourself, are you?"

"Very," she purred again, looking up at me. Her eyes were half-closed, or perhaps she was still fiddling with the buttons. Lola tilted her chin up, and I saw a flash of green, and knew she was looking at me from under her eyelashes.

It felt right, even if I'd never done it before. I kissed her. Perhaps in gratitude. Perhaps because my Gundam was saying it was time to get out and try that third option, again. Perhaps because her hair was still a little wet, slick strands plastered to her forehead, or her lips were parted and the day was rainy and I was a big, dumb, male who wanted to know what it'd be like.

Neither of us made it to our next class.

 

 

 

That was how I lost my virginity. I don't remember much, but then, if I'd thought coat-shopping would be a blur with a woman involved, I was far more naive than I realized. Sex with one was... well. It was beyond a blur. It was the very definition of blur.

My nipples were a  _shitload_  more sensitive, I discovered. I nearly came the second her hot mouth descended on one nipple, her tongue flicking the ring gently while her fingers tugged on the other ring. I'm pretty sure I left claw marks in the door, trying to hold myself up, and I might've dented the doorknob before I thought to push her backwards, towards the bed. My entire body was screaming with a message I'd only gotten two or three times before in my life but never with the chance to do anything about it.

Her skin was smooth, pale as colony-born, and I dragged my fingers across her chest before I realized what had me so astonished. It wasn't the reddish nipples, standing proud on her breasts, or the gentle sweep of her collarbones down to rows of ribs. It was the utter smoothness. No gun shot scars, no knife marks, no signs of war engraved on her body. I had to pause, quelling a fear that she'd see my body and recoil in horror. The war had been kinder to me than Heero or Trowa, but still... a gunshot wound is still a gunshot wound.

The curls at the juncture of her thighs and pelvis were a light copper, and wiry, and she arched her back as I ran my fingers through them, until I hooked a finger on a ring and nearly jerked back in surprise.

"Piercings," she sighed, and blushed.

Curious, I pushed her legs apart, so I could stare. Damp and glistening, two rings sat opposite, nestled within the folds, and I tugged, twisting lightly, enjoying the whimpers she made. I had no frickin' clue what I was doing, to tell the truth. I hoped she didn't notice, but I followed the sounds she made, encouraging me, and I stroked, prodded, and rubbed until she begged me to kiss her. The only thing was, she was pushing my head down, not pulling me up, and it took a second for me to figure it out.

I guess I did okay. She made a lot of noise, while I struggled to figure out some kind of rhythm and come to grips with the tangy bittersweet taste on my palate. It wasn't bad, just... different. The whole thing was different. I was different. Maybe that's all that mattered.

She had condoms, and I recall being eternally grateful that I didn't have to reveal my lack of preparation, but knowing Lola, she would've worked around it somehow. She ripped the package open, but did it for me, and her hands on me made me nearly come again. Lola chuckled, the sound becoming a sigh as she lowered herself on me, and I clawed at her hips, wanting more. Then she started to move, and I couldn't comprehend wanting anything but this... and then she bent over to suckle at my nipples—because that's the only word that could possibly describe—and my body had no interest in my mind's commentary then.

Pure, total instinct. It was exactly like the last battle with Libra, knowing what to do without need for a guideline or rules or someone to show me the way. I just let go, rolling over until she was pinned beneath me, and let my body do what it wanted. And it wanted to be inside her, deeper and farther and my god, I don't know what I thought or saw or did but I remember her moaning in my ears and maybe that was me, too, and my entire body tensed, arching, slamming deep to explode into a million pieces like the death of a Gundam and her ankles were locked around my waist and I was shuddering, slowing, moaning, my eyes wide or maybe shut tight and her hands tweaked my nipple rings and I shivered and slowly collapsed, rolling over at the last minute so she was straddling me.

We were quiet for several long minutes. One of my hands was buried in her hair, brushing gently as I stared up at the ceiling. I was trying, oddly, to comprehend how it was that the first time I brought someone back to my apartment, it was to lose my virginity.

I certainly felt different. I wondered if I went and looked in the mirror, would it be like the nipple rings? Would others know it, sense it, react to it? Was it like carrying a gun, where only those who know their own guns would see that you had one, too? Was it like that strange insulated world of mobile suit pilots—which included even us Gundam pilots—where the faded calluses and random hand motions were clear sign that you were among those who understood?

Lola sighed against me, turning her head to stare across my little one-room apartment. I wondered if I should apologize for the place being so messy. I wondered if this meant we were going to do this again. I wondered if this meant I had lost something in my friendship with her.

"What's this from?" Her finger traced a scar that ran from my armpit, several inches across to my collarbone. It was a jagged line, made sensitive by her fingernail, echoing the old injury.

"The wars," I said, covering her hand with mine.

"Plural," she breathed, and was silent again for a minute. Then she shifted, curling up closer, and tugged her hand out from mine. "That's a beautiful piece," she whispered, turning her head to stare at Wufei's gift. "Not what I expected to find on your walls, though." She laughed, softly, against my chest, and her breath across my nipples made me shiver again.

"A friend gave it to me," I told her.

"It's gorgeous."

"Yeah." I went back to running my hand through her hair, and tried to figure out how I felt. Her body was curves and slopes, cushioned against me, and it felt good. It felt... it felt strange, too, knowing I'd been that vulnerable with someone. I'd never imagined there were any but four other people in this universe around whom I could ever truly be myself. But maybe having sex—like so many other things—was just one more way to find out that I'd never been myself before.

I didn't like that thought. It felt like I was betraying the first peers to accept me not only as one of their own, but their leader, in some ways.

"I guess I expected something a bit more... " Lola shrugged, and her fingers trailed down my chest, catching on the few white-blond hairs around each nipple. "Stark."

"Stark?" I frowned, thinking of all the colorful oil painting and watercolors in the houses where I'd grown up. Every room had at least three original pieces of art, if not more. Stark was the last thing I'd apply to my usual surroundings, let alone as a description of a natural tendency.

"Yeah. Black and white photographs, or maybe pen-and-ink," Lola murmured, a little sleepily. "You just seem so... withdrawn. Like your world isn't in colors for you and you resent those of us who can see the rainbows... "

My hand slowed, came to a stop, and I could only stare wide-eyed at the ceiling.

"Maybe you just don't know how to look," she continued, her voice dropping into that purr again. "Wrong eyes. Rose-colored glasses got smashed, and now you think the world's all gray."

Her fingers thumped on my chest, and she snuggled closer, interlacing one leg with mine. I realized the condom was still on me, but couldn't be bothered to move. Wrong eyes, she'd said. Smashed-up rose-colored glasses of pacifism, destroyed by the Barton Incident and the recognition that my fight had been futile if it did nothing but make Mariemaia's attack so damn easy. I didn't bring peace, I'd found; I'd created a weak world, bereft of its defense or will to defend, easy pickings for the next Khushrenada.

"Shhh," Lola sighed. "Your heart's thumping a mile a minute... " She shifted, tilting her head, and I craned my neck to see her giving me a sad smile. "I'm sorry it wasn't that good."

"Wasn't... " I was stunned. "It was... you were... excellent. Really. I... " I tugged her up closer and kissed her quickly on the lips.

When I pulled away, her eyes opened slowly, and the sorrowful little look was still there.

"I don't know, Cat," she said. "Your body will react... that's just hormones. I know how that works," and she sounded just a little bitter, but then she smiled again. "But... something I said just made your heart beat far faster than it did while we were having sex."

"I don't understand," I said, frowning.

"You don't need to, yet," she replied, and patted me on the chest, a comforting and yet somewhat patronizing move. "But your heart only pounds when it's involved in the picture. If it's not... then it's not. No harm, no foul, I enjoyed it, too."

I puzzled that out, and could come to no logical conclusion as to what the hell she meant. Sex had been mind-blowing, and put my body on a vibrational level with a bad gyro motor in the midst of a fierce battle. And my mind had certainly shut down, but... how did I feel about it?

Worried, mostly, I thought, and shifted out from under her. The condom was starting to be really annoying, and I wanted to clean up before settling down for a nap. She murmured something incomprehensible, and I pushed the hair out of her face before peeling off the condom with a disgusted look. I threw the condom in the trash by the kitchen sink, instinctively covering it with some papers on the countertop I'd been meaning to throw away. Then I washed my face and brushed my teeth.

Feeling more human, I rolled my shoulders, stretching my arms over my head and shaking out my legs before heading back to bed. Lola had rolled over on her back, facing the wall, and was curled up with my two blankets around her in a small lump.

I was just lifting up the blanket to slip in beside her when someone knocked on the door. It wasn't the landlady, who never knocked but taped a note to the door. Who else knew where I lived, other than Heero and Duo? Even Wufei had written in care of my school address. One hand was under my pillow in an instant, relieved my gun hadn't been knocked away while Lola and I rolled back and forth so energetically. I checked and cocked it as quietly as I could manage.

I grabbed a pair of jeans and yanked them on, managing to only get the bottom two buttons done in the few seconds it took me to cover the ten feet to the door. The gun was in my right hand. I opened the door with my left hand, keeping my body at an angle and my gun at the ready.

"Bad time?" Trowa tossed his head, getting the long fall of auburn out of his eyes, and stared down at me with an amused look. There was a duffle bag by his feet, and he was leaning up against the doorjamb. He took in my appearance in one swift glance, and raised his eyebrows. "Or do you welcome all your old friends this way?"


	4. Chapter 4

It was not what I expected.

I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't Trowa leaning against my door with that little smile on his face, like he was infinitely amused. I'm sure I gave him plenty of reason to be amused, with my hair standing on end and a little bit wet, wearing dirty jeans half-unbuttoned, and probably looking like something the cat dragged in.

So to speak.

"Well?" Trowa's smile slipped a little, his gaze darting past me to what little of the apartment he could see.

"Right," I said, and quickly buttoned my jeans up the rest of the way before tucking my gun away at the base of my spine. Pulling the door open, I attempted to paste a smile on my face. "Sorry. You just surprised me."

"I figured as much." He halted when I closed the door behind him, and gave me his version of a shocked look, eyebrows just barely arched. "I didn't realize you had company."

"No, I guess not," I said, trying to keep my voice down. "Not like I had a sign out in the hallway." I locked the door and waved my hand in a general fashion. "Put your stuff down wherever. Want something to drink? Beer, tea, milk... "

"Beer's fine." Trowa dropped his bag by the door, and toed off his boots. He leaned against the wall, which worked out well; I only had three steps until I was at the sink. He seemed to be staring at Lola's sleeping form with some curiosity, before looking at me again, an intent message in his gaze.

I shrugged. I wasn't sure what to say, and could feel a trickle of nervousness going down my spine. Trowa was definitely giving me that look. The same one that always preceded me giving in with a sweet smile and proceeding to tell him everything and anything he wanted to hear. Only this time, if I did, would he look at me like I'd grown a second head? Would he be disgusted with my choices, like Duo had been? Or would he try and pretend nothing had changed, like Heero had?

I rooted around in my one drawer of utensils, couldn't find the bottle cap remover, and stared at the bottles in disgust. Placing the top against my forearm, I pressed, twisted, and the top came off, then I did the same with the second. Handing the first bottle to Trowa, I clinked the second bottle against his and tried to smile anyway. He arched an eyebrow.

"Interesting method," he said, his tone neutral.

"Yeah." I took a long swig and leaned against the cabinet, trying to be nonchalant, and really just feeling a bit defensive. "I'd offer you a place to sit, but there really isn't one."

"I see that."

His gaze traveled towards the sleeping figure in my bed. Lola's bright red hair was barely visible, a fiery beacon against the pillows, caught by the streetlights coming in through the window. I realized how dark it had grown—sundown came quickly in the city. I took the two steps to my closet bathroom, flicked the switch, and closed the door all but four inches. A shaft of yellowed light streaked across the floor to paint the wall a wide beam of gold.

"So." I took another swig of beer, and figured I might as well start. Didn't seem like Trowa was going to offer an explanation. "What's the occasion?"

Trowa paused, the bottle to his lips, and shrugged in return. He took a drink, lowered the bottle, and stared at it for a moment. "Uh," he muttered. "It's kind of... well, it's Duo."

"Great. Duo's been hounding all of you to come check on me, I bet." I turned away from Trowa, finishing off my beer in a long swallow. Shaking the bottle a little to make sure it was empty, I set it down on the countertop and crossed my arms.

Trowa gave me that raised-eyebrow, amused look again, and I tensed, then shrunk in on myself. Suddenly I wished I'd put a shirt on, something to cover me, a uniform to hide behind. I could feel his eyes moving up and down my body again, pausing at my chest, and I did my best to pretend as though I didn't notice.

Oh, but I noticed. I so fucking noticed I thought I'd jump straight upwards or shatter into pieces if he so much as blinked at me. Yeah, I wanted to say, I can grow up, too! But instead, I felt like I was fifteen again, meeting him for the first time. Damn him. He always was so cool and collected, utterly unflappable... and it's four years later and I'm still playing dress-up in someone else's clothes, someone else's role. Just a fucking kid, reliant on a bunch of grown men to watch my back when Trowa could cruise the world as he pleased, beholden to no one and no thing.

That's why I loved him, but it's also why sometimes I hated him.

I strode past Lola's sleeping form and grabbed the first shirt I found, pulling it over my head with abrupt, embarrassed movements. I paused, then continued, slower, straightening the shirt before turning to face Trowa. He hadn't moved, except to point the neck of his bottle at Lola, his eyebrows raised.

"Heavy sleeper," I told him. I knelt on the bed, hovering over her, and watched for several seconds. She was out completely, but that wasn't a surprise. We'd been studying for finals for the previous week with little sleep. I rocked back on my heels and stood up. If she didn't wake, she was welcome to stay. I envied her, though.

"Have you had dinner?" Trowa drank the last of his beer and set the bottle next to mine. "I saw a Mexican place on the way here—"

"Joe's," I said. "Ate there once. Spicy, but good." I frowned at Lola, trying to decide what I should do. I realized Trowa was assuming Lola was here on a regular basis. Perhaps he even assumed she had her own keys.

The phone rang, and I did nearly jump out of my skin, but managed to keep my reaction to a hiss. Shoving my clothes and Lola's aside, I dug out the phone, collapsing on the mattress next to her.

"Cat," I said, and studiously ignored Trowa. He remained in the dark corner between the kitchen and the door.

"Hey," Canh said. "Got to ask you a favor. Just got a message from Felicia."

"She okay?" I pushed the phone base across the floor with a bare foot, then dragged it back again.

"Actually, no. I've got to get back into class, but she hurt her hip and her sensei says he doesn't want her limping home."

"She won't call a cab?"

"No cash on her, and you know the cabbies around here."

"Fuck," I repeated. The cabbies wouldn't wait for her to get the cash, but they'd remember, and so would their friends. Not wise to piss off a cabbie in this part of town.

"Cat? What's wrong?" Lola's sleepy voice came from behind me.

"Felicia's been hurt in class," I told her, without looking. I ran a hand through my hair, and shook my head. "Canh, I'd walk the cash down there myself, but I spent everything this afternoon." I twisted to glare over my shoulder at Lola, who smirked. "Oh, hell, I'll escort her home. Call her back and—"

"I've got to get back into class now. You call her, please!"

Canh hung up, and I stared at the phone for a second before dialing the dojo. One of the students answered; I left a message for Felicia to stay put and wait for me. Dragging my crate of socks towards me, I dug out two and started putting them on.

"Cat?" Lola sat up, the blanket slipping from around her shoulders. Trowa was silent in the corner, and I could almost forget he was there.

"It's cool, really, but Felicia got hurt in class and the sensei doesn't want her limping home on her own." I came up on my knees, crawling forward enough to give Lola a quick kiss on the lips. I didn't feel like making it more, and she let go of me reluctantly. "Boots... where did I put my boots... "

Lola giggled. "Didn't we get them off over by the  _holy fuck there's a person in your apartment!_ "

"Oh." I sighed, barely able to contain the laughter as Lola flailed, trying to get the blanket up over herself as she gaped in shock. "Sorry. I was a bit distracted, there. Trowa, could you hit the switch by the door?"

When the overhead light came on, I blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust. Lola slowly lowered her arm, giving me a baffled look, and I sighed.

"Trowa, this is Lola. Lola, this is Trowa." I found my boots, buried under Lola's clothing. I tossed the clothing to her, and shoved my feet in my boots. "Sorry to interrupt your sleep."

"I should apologize, not you," she admitted cheerfully, pushing her hair out of her face. The clothes disappeared under the blanket, and she pulled it over her head. The blanket moved in several strange contortions; she ripped the blanket off to reveal she was fully dressed—except for the underwear she was shoving in her back pocket. "Can I claim I was keeping your bed warm?"

"You can try," I replied, helping Lola to her feet. "Won't say I'll be convinced."

"Worth a shot," Lola teased. She grabbed her coat, turning to Trowa. "It's a pleasure meeting you, even if you scared the living daylights out of me." Her voice wavered, and she stuck out her hand.

Trowa stared at it for a long moment, before nodding his head slowly, both a response and a dismissal. His green eyes were impassive, and Lola dropped her hand with a frightened look. Then she turned, looked at me, then at Trowa again, and backed up a step.

"Oh," she said, very quietly. "I... should get on home."

"You're not walking alone, either," I told her.

"It's six blocks to campus, and I'm sure Kerry's waiting—"

"I'll call you a cab. Only take a minute. Got cash?"

She nodded, and I called the cab company while putting on my new coat. Confirming the cab would arrive in a few minutes, we headed downstairs. Trowa followed, which both relieved me—I didn't want him alone in my place anymore than I wanted anyone else there without me, I realized—and surprised me. He didn't ask. He just came along.

I wondered what it was related to Duo that made him show up. I hadn't spoken to Duo since that phone call. Maybe something bad had happened, and the thought made me almost trip on the steps. Wouldn't Duo have called me and told me the news, too? I wanted a chance to try things on my own, but did I want to be that much on my own? Maybe I had to be. Maybe not knowing about their lives was the price of getting the chance to try things for myself.

I kept quiet, thinking about it, absently giving Lola a kiss on the cheek when the cab arrived. I was still pondering it while I led the way to the dojo. Trowa followed, easily keeping pace, and I realized we were about the same height. I was possibly an inch taller.

Duo, Iria, Heero, and now Trowa... was everyone insistent on checking up on me? I could do this school-thing. It should be a piece of cake after building Zero, or fighting with them during the war. I wasn't completely helpless. No, I told myself, taking that thought back immediately. I didn't think they'd consider me helpless. Just... na—ve, maybe. Compared to them, I'd always been protected, in some form or another. But what did I have to do, to convince them I didn't want that anymore? I didn't want to throw them all out of my life, not completely. I just wanted them to back off and give me some room.

The rain had stopped, and the streets were a dingy gray. I shoved my hands in my pockets, and reminded myself that I'd need to do something for Lola, to thank her for her help with the coat.

"She was pretty," Trowa said, unexpectedly, interrupting my thoughts. He didn't sound amused. He sounded pleased, and I frowned.

"She's okay."

"Physically or... ?" He didn't look at me when he asked.

I shrugged. "What brings you to this city?"

"Do I need a reason?" He stepped around a pile of trash, never breaking pace.

"You as much as implied you had one," I pointed out. I motioned for him to take a right, and he nodded. The dojo was only two blocks more. The wind kept catching the hem of my coat and slapping it against my legs.

"True." Trowa sighed, and hunched his shoulders. He wasn't really dressed for dirtside weather, and I felt bad for not having something warmer to offer him. "It's... " He shook his head. "This doesn't seem like a good time."

"Don't know if there really is such a thing," I answered, trying to sound lighthearted. Inside, though, I was thinking: no, it's not. But the sooner you spill, the sooner you'll leave, and I can get back to pretending like I'm really someone... who isn't a little boy, who's more than a suit and a nice tie and a bunch of bodyguards. I want you here, but at the same time, I don't, because when you're here, I'm not the same person I was before you got here. It all confused me.

"You seem tense," he said, slowing his pace, and I matched it. "Like... perhaps you're not happy I stopped by... " He turned his head, not quite meeting my gaze, and the wind blew his hair out of his face for just a minute.

"No, it's not that," I protested, unable to look him in the eye. I felt guilty; I was mad at him for knowing me so well and mad at myself for not knowing myself half as well. "It's just generally a stressful time. Exams next week, and all."

He nodded, coming to a halt, and I waited, trying to contain my impatience. It was cold, I knew rain would start again soon enough, and Felicia was expecting me. Trowa shook his head abruptly and gave me an apologetic smile.

"We shouldn't keep your friend waiting," he whispered, and began walking again.

 

 

 

At Felicia's apartment, she offered to have us come in and warm up but I declined. I knew she was dying of curiosity about the man at my side, and where he'd come from, and who he was to me. I figured I could wait for her third degree until our study session the next afternoon.

"So," I said, when we were alone on the sidewalk.

"So," he echoed. "It... it's about Duo."

I said nothing, noting only that Trowa seemed even more hunched than he did before, following my lead back to the apartment. He sighed and shoved his hands farther into his jeans pocket, not even bothering to zip up his jacket.

"I see him every time the circus is on L3," he said. "And... " I looked over to see Trowa was chewing on his lower lip, an affectation I'd never known him to have before. Trowa caught my look and smiled, shyly. "I... I don't know what to do."

"You visit him and you don't know what to do," I repeated, for clarification. This was territory I could handle. I'd been the strategic advice-giver for our group for long enough. "I don't get it. Don't you do things when you visit?"

"Yeah. Just not... "

We'd arrived at my apartment building, and I pushed the door open, leading the way up the stairs. The bulb down the hall from my door was burning out, and it flickered like bad neon, making our shadows jump on the walls. Unlocking the two deadbolts, I ushered him in, and dropped my coat on the floor.

"You can hang your coat... it's probably still damp if you were out in the rain." I pointed to the nail on the wall by the door. "Bathroom," I told him.

When I came back, my coat was hanging up, and his coat was hooked over an edge of one of the kitchen drawers. I filled the pot, and set it on the stove to boil water for tea. While I waited, I leaned a hip against the counter and watched Trowa prowl around the room. He finally stopped, settling into a cross-legged position by the wall, the scroll over his left shoulder. The bed, my books; the entire room was between us, and still he said nothing, mostly staring at my notebooks, my bag, my clothes scattered about.

I made him a cup of tea, and he looked surprised when I handed it to him and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Didn't you want tea?" He frowned at the mug, then at me.

"I only have one mug," I told him, shrugging. "I keep meaning to get a second one, but I don't entertain much." I looked around the room, and couldn't keep a wry smile off my face. "Actually, one phone call and two visitors, all in one night, is pretty much a record."

"Ah." He sipped the tea, then held out the mug, and I took it, sipping while I waited for him to get to the point. Trowa ran a hand through his hair, and sank down a little against the wall. "I've been seeing a lot of Duo... but I want to see more. And you're his best friend. I don't know what to do to let him know... "

It's a good thing ceramic is strong, because one of the china cups I had back home would have shattered under my grip.

Trowa, my mind whispered, stunned.  _Trowa likes Duo_.

As quickly as I heard the words, I loosened my grasp on the mug and offered it back to him. Of course, I told myself; it makes sense, while squeezing down my childhood crush as though I could easily muster the force of a Gundam slamming down on my heart. Duo and Trowa do have a lot in common, when you look past the surface. They're both experts at infiltration and subterfuge, but other than Wufei, they're among the most brutally honest people I know. And strongly compassionate, and highly protective of those few they've let within. And they both like to play, even if Duo's humor is more verbal and Trowa's is drier.

Right. I nodded to myself, and looked at Trowa, who was staring into his mug.

"Have you tried actually telling him how you feel?" I wondered if my voice sounded calm. I hoped so. He came all this way to ask for advice about how to snag the heart of one of my closest friends, and all I could think to do was scream on the inside. An adolescent year of being so madly in love with him, to a degree I'd never felt before or since, maybe. And he walked away, not once, but twice.

Sure, I thought bitterly, accepting the empty mug and getting up to make more tea. Show up and just... no, I shouldn't go there. What's done was done, and just because I got my heart smashed on my first love by someone who didn't know, didn't care, and only saw me as a friend... that's no reason to be spiteful and smash him right back.

"Well?" I prompted, when Trowa didn't say anything. "Have you?"

"Not in so many words," Trowa replied.

"Hell, Tro, Duo needs to hear things. He's good at the nonverbal but he tends to interpret it as he pleases. You have to say more than just that you like hanging out with him." I set the fresh mug of tea down by Trowa's feet, and went to get myself a beer.

"But what if he... "

Rejects you? Ignores you? Doesn't bother to introduce himself until after he's availed himself of your hospitality and already has your friendship? For a second, I thought I might have to peel the fingers of my right hand off the beer bottle, and had to take a deep breath before I could continue. Not me, not me, not me, my mind chanted.

"Trowa, he's not going to reject you," I said, settling on the mattress with a sigh. "You're... well, you're you. There's no chance in hell he'd reject you."

"I'm me? What's that supposed to mean?" His eyes flashed, over the rim of the mug.

"You're irresistible," I said, laughing nonchalantly, and hoping he didn't hear just how true I'd always felt that was. "Duo would be crazy to say no, and even if he did, I'm sure he wouldn't end the friendship over it."

"I might," Trowa whispered, setting down the mug. He twisted to look out the window, although at his angle he could probably only see a sliver of darkness. "I don't think I could settle for just being his friend... not anymore."

"You could," I assured him. "Maybe not right away, but you would. We've all been friends for too long to lose it over something that's no one's fault... if that's what happens."

"You think so?" Trowa's tone was distinctly hopeful.

"I know so," I replied, firmly.

Hell, I managed it, didn't I? And I was managing it just fine all these years and it never hurt like this before. Why now? Maybe because I felt like Duo was doing everything better than me, and to top it off, he might get the person I never got. Secretly I had to admit I might be just a little jealous that Duo could do so much, and make it all seem so easy.

"I just... I guess I needed to make sure," Trowa whispered. He swirled the tea in the mug, his tone thoughtful. "I guess this is the information-gathering stage."

"Well," I said, casting about for a way to put things in a good light. "I know he's always excited when you're coming through L3. And he likes hanging out with you." I threw a sideways glance at Trowa. "And he's single, currently."

Trowa nodded. He yawned, unexpectedly, and grinned, a bit rueful. "Sorry. Long day," he explained. "Flight was seventeen hours."

"You can sleep on the bed, if you want. Just let me put down clean sheets," and I turned my face away so he wouldn't see me blushing. "I've got to stay up and study, anyway."

"I don't want to impose," he started to protest, but I waved a hand at him as I got up.

The sheets were in one of the crates, and I dug them out, tossing them onto the end of the bed while I stripped the pillowcases. "You're not," I told him. "And before you ask, the only motels around here charge by the hour. Make yourself at home, if you don't mind the light from the bathroom. It's what I usually study by, at night. The overhead light is too bright."

"Ah," he said, getting up.

Trowa stretched like a cat, and I could hear his spine popping in a few places. He took his duffle bag into the bathroom, and I listened to the sounds of the toilet running while I finished making the bed. When he returned, he stared at the bed for a minute before nodding and lying down.

I flipped off the overhead lights, set up my physics books around me, and leaned against the wall by the bathroom door. In its golden light, I could see enough to read by, and soon the only sound was Trowa's even breathing and my pencil scribbling across the pages.

An hour passed, maybe more. I had almost forgotten he was there, too buried in complex equations and extended theories. Then he muttered something in his sleep and rolled over to face me. I stared. I couldn't do anything but stare.

His face was more angular than when we'd been kids: high cheekbones, a long sweep of chin and jawline, thin lips wryly expressive if you knew what to look for. The wide collar of his nightshirt hung down, exposing the arc of his collarbones, and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, rubbing his face against the pillow before sighing and sinking back into sleep. His arm was stretched across the mattress towards me, the delicate fingers curled, just a little, as though beckoning me.

My fingers tightened on the pencil. In one night, I'd had sex for the first time, and found out my first crush...  _first love_?... had fallen for someone else, and worse yet perhaps, someone I knew. I recalled the sounds Lola had made as I ran my fingers down her body, and imagined the deeper, huskier sounds a man might make. A man like Trowa, my mind whispered. He had a lean, muscled body, and my fingers would find trim hardness, sharp curves of his abdomen, the jut of a hip, rather than the cushioned fullness of a woman's body.

Would he moan? Would he whisper to me what he wanted me to do? Would his skin taste like sweat and sweetness, or coffee and engine oil and new-cut hay? Would he groan and card his hands through my hair if I ran my tongue around his belly and down to his groin? Would he be ticklish on the inside of his thighs? Would he let me...

No.

The pencil had snapped in two, and I stared down at the broken pieces, before picking them up and carefully piecing them together. In the bathroom light, I could see the jagged edges where the two pieces met. Two broken pieces that fit together like they belong.

Yes.

That would be Duo and Trowa. I loved them both, in different ways, and I gripped the pencil tightly, as though my will could solder together the two halves. Trowa had never wanted me, although he'd always loved me, in a distant way. He just didn't look at me and see someone worth wanting for more. He'd said once that he had nothing to offer.

And now that was my turn. Now, he'd come to me for advice, but I realized it wasn't so much for advice as for assurance that he could get what he wanted, if he worked up the nerve to go after it. But then, even that... probably wasn't because it was something I could offer in great amount, so much as the fact that the rest of us weren't in a position to do anything. Wufei and Duo were friends, but kept out of each other's emotional lives, seeming to keep their friendship purely on the surface. Too much was different between them, and I knew from Duo's complaints it was constant effort on both their parts to keep the friendships strong. No, Wufei would tell Trowa he didn't know, and couldn't say.

While Heero... oh, no surprise there that Trowa wouldn't speak with Heero. It had taken Heero a year to reappear after the Barton Incident, and when he did, he would only say he'd realized he loved both Duo and Relena. He couldn't decide, and didn't want to, and chose neither. Duo had left for school shortly afterwards, and Relena had buried herself in her work. The three were friends, now, but there was always that tension underneath, that Heero loved both so desperately and couldn't...  _wouldn't_... choose.

I knew. I'd been the only one Heero had talked to about it, before he'd told them.

So that leaves me, doesn't it, Trowa, I asked the sleeping form. I'm always the advice-giver, and rarely the getter, never the one asking. Without even being aware of it, I'd flipped my notebook to the first blank page and begun sketching him. The lines formed under my hand, and for every angle and curve shaping under my pencil, the less I saw him as Trowa, the boy-into-a-man I'd known and wanted and missed... and I started to see him as Lola had.

He was lethal.

Trowa carried himself with an easy grace. When Lola first saw him, Trowa had been leaning with his hips tilted outwards, stomach sucked in, and the fingers of one hand caught in the pocket of his jeans. The index finger and middle finger outside the pocket, pointing downwards towards his crotch, a simple but subtle message: Yeah, I'm a guy. Don't fuck with me. I'll do the fucking. Head tilted down, hair masking the true direction of his gaze, the tension in his shoulders, the casual move and controlled elegance. He moved and looked like he was carrying several weapons or none, and would know how to kill you with or without them.

He filled the room, and you couldn't take your eyes off him. It made me smile, almost, that I could forget he'd been in the room, when talking to Lola. But she, in contrast, couldn't take her eyes off him once she'd realized he was there. No one could, which was why his ability to be such a chameleon had always intrigued and surprised me, every time. He was both there, and not, but when he was, there was no doubt you should be careful.

So no surprise that she shrank back from him, even if I looked at him and saw the same gentle soul I'd known for four years. He wouldn't attack without provocation—not unless pushed against the wall, but then he would bite. And his words were often bluntly truthful enough to slice worse than any dagger. What I couldn't figure out, still, was why she'd looked at him, then me, and pulled back from both of us. She'd seen me naked, and sweaty, and making probably the most ridiculous faces ever, and yet... what had possibly frightened her?

Must be a girl thing, I decided.

 

 

 

I woke up in the morning, to find the blanket draped over me, and the pillow under my head. I was still surrounded by my physics notes, and I curled deeper in the blanket, not bothered in the least. I'd fallen asleep while studying plenty of times. There were a pair of boots not far from me, and I stared at them for a second before my eyes popped open completely and I sat up with a start.

Trowa looked up from the bed, where he was sitting cross-legged. My physics notebook was open on his lap, and he was paging through, studying the pictures. I think I made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a squeak, because he chuckled, and flipped backwards several pages. He held it up, turning it show me a bare line sketch I'd done of Dr. Robinson.

"I like this one," he said.

"That's my notebook," I finally managed to say, albeit in somewhat strangled tones.

"Yes," Trowa agreed. "I'd say physics but it could be for an art class and you just like to doodle complex derivatives in the margins."

"No, it's for physics," I said, my fingers already itching to grab it out of his fingers. Had he already looked through the entire thing? I recalled a picture I'd drawn last night, of him sleeping. My stomach clenched, and I tensed to lunge. "Trowa," I said, by way of a final and only warning.

He took the hint and set the notebook aside. "Are you taking an art class?"

I shook my head, and pulled the blanket off, stumbling to my feet. The little clock on my plastic crates said it was eight, and I groaned, rubbing my eyes as I made my way to the pantry-kitchen. I kept my finger in the pot to feel when the water was high enough, which meant I could lean against the sink with my eyes closed, catching a few more seconds of semi-napping time. When the pot was full enough, I set it on the stove, turned the gas on, hit the timer so I didn't let it boil down to nothing, and turned. Four steps and I'd crashed out on the bed next to Trowa.

A pillow landed on my head, and I grabbed at it, curling up with a sigh.

"Have some tea," I muttered. "I'll be right with you."

Trowa chuckled and laid down next to me, on his back. I stretched out to give him room alongside me, and was surprised to find his fingers threading carefully through mine. We lay like that for a moment, and I was even more astonished to discover it didn't hurt as much as I'd expected. Perhaps the night before I'd just been overwhelmed.

I snorted, and Trowa frowned, turning to give me a curious look. "Just thinking," I said, and changed the subject. "You scared the daylights out of Lola."

"Me?" Trowa smiled, and shook his head back and forth against the sheets. "It was you that made her take a step back."

"Bullshit," I grumbled. I was tempted to say she had no reason after having my dick in her hands—hell, if she'd been frightened at any time, she certainly had me at her mercy then—but I choked back the words and settled for glaring. "You were doing your impression of a gargoyle."

"A what?" Trowa laughed. He kept his hand in mine, but turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. "I like the hair, by the way."

"Thanks. It's a hassle," I replied, letting my eyes close. "I have to be up in two hours," I added. "I think the alarm's set."

"I'll wake you," he promised.

For a moment, I wished there was a way he'd wake me, but I felt the warmth of his hand in mine, and knew if it were ever to happen, it wouldn't be now. Maybe not ever, and maybe that's just the way it had all worked out.

I realized I knew how Heero felt, and decided I'd have to drop him a line. If nothing else, at least someone should be there for him, if Duo did notice and accept Trowa's overtures. Sleepily, I formulated rough plans for what I'd do to Duo if he hurt Trowa, and sketched a few equally basic ideas for what I'd do to Trowa if he didn't treat Duo properly. Something poked at my forehead, and I opened my eyes to see Trowa only a few inches away, regarding me with fond amusement.

"You're plotting something," he teased. "I know that line." He pressed his finger up against my forehead again, and I sighed.

"Why didn't you love  _me_ ," I whispered.

Trowa became very still, and I swallowed hard, closing my eyes as he dropped his hand. He didn't say anything, but after a moment I realized our hands were still clasped, under the blanket. He wriggled his fingers until our palms were pressed together.

"How could you possibly have loved me?" He closed his eyes half way, regarding me from under his lashes. It was as guarded as he'd be around me, while still being truthful. His own secret code: watch where you step.

The only way out was to joke, so I laughed and sat up, stretching widely before dropping my hands in my lap with a sleepy grunt. "Oh, don't even give me that line. Except you five, all anyone else cares about is how many zeros are after the big number in my bank account. But you... you didn't even want to share transportation to San Francisco. How the hell could I not be attracted to someone who didn't treat me like a potential meal ticket?"

"So you're saying anyone who ignores you, insults your skills, and walks out on you is fair game for a relationship?" His eyes were sharp, but his tone was light. He rolled over on his back, lacing his fingers together behind his head.

I popped him on the stomach, and he curled up, laughing.

"Asshole," I muttered, and propped my chin on my fist. "It wasn't like that. It's too early in the morning, and I can't explain it properly. I don't think it can be explained, really."

"Maybe not," he concurred, and the timer rang. He sat up, waving me back down. "I'll fix the tea. And then I'll make breakfast."

"With what? Broken pencils and my notes from Sanskrit?" I collapsed back on the pillow. "I have nothing but beer, milk, and condiments."

Trowa opened the fridge, and I heard him exclaim something rude. I groaned, and he came to stand over me by the bed.

"Quatre Raberba Winner," he announced, "you are such the college student."

"I bet you say that to all the guys you crash with," I retorted, and tried to hit him in the knees. He jumped out of my reach with a laugh. I scowled, curling back up under the blankets.

"Has Duo ever cooked for you?" He prodded my head with his toe, and I swatted blindly in his direction.

"Yeah, but he wouldn't let me in the kitchen." He'd insisted I'd blow the place up, the bastard. Like he was one to talk. I waved an arm at Trowa. "Go 'way if you're going to get on my case. Keys are on the countertop, go get some Mexican breakfast."

Trowa snorted, and began rifling through my cabinets. I sat up, panicked he'd find the shoebox and insist on digging through it, too. That was personal, and while I'd give him the shirt off my back, I wasn't sure I was ready for him to find out just how sentimental I had become. "Hey, wait a minute---"

He brought out a few boxes of macaroni and cheese, followed by six more, until his arms were full. Trowa arched an eyebrow, and I rolled my eyes and sighed in the most put-upon manner I could muster at eight in the morning. It wasn't hard. I always feel put-upon when I have to get up that early after studying until four.

"Quatre, you're living off processed cardboard," he chastised.

"Keep that up, and I'll know for a fact Duo sent you."

"I'll admit he suggested I swing by and say hello if I got the chance, but he recommended something about not challenging you to any duels." Trowa smirked, and put the boxes away. "We're going shopping."

"I have no money until next week," I replied. I rolled over on my side, facing away from him. "Blew my budget on the coat."

"I can—"

"No! Don't you dare," I snapped, suddenly angry, but I didn't turn to face him. "I didn't see any of you calling me for help when you were starting out after the war!"

There was a long moment of silence, and I could feel the mattress dip as Trowa knelt down next to me. "Is that what this is all about?"

"What is all what all about," I replied, burying deeper in the blankets. I knew, and I didn't really want to discuss it.

"This," he said, poking me. "Look at this place, for instance. You've always kept a place as neatly as Duo, if not even neater."

"No, I didn't. If you missed the memo, I always had servants underfoot, fucking everywhere, doing everything for me."

Trowa made a disgusted sound, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, staring up into his green eyes. "It's not a bad thing to have friends help," he told me.

"I can do it  _myself_ ," I shouted, and shoved at his chest. He fell backwards, stunned, and I sat up, clutching my chest at the sudden empathic agony slicing through me. "Oh, god," I whispered, and after a second, I dropped my hand, clenching and unclenching my fingers as I tried to get my breathing under control. "I'm fine, Trowa, though I appreciate your... words. I have to do this myself."

"Do you?" He shook his head. "Do you really think we each learned everything on our own? We all had help, from each other. And you helped, too."

"Sure," I replied, rather bitterly. "I came to visit and smiled at the right times and said the right things and then I went back to being a good little bureaucrat."

"You're more than that."

"Like hell." I rolled over on my side, away from him again, but he grabbed my arm. "Hey, ow," I complained. "Let go. I'm sleeping."

"Then sleepwalk," he ordered, yanking me upright. Stumbling a little, he shoved me forwards, towards the bathroom. "I want you to look. Come on, move," and he pushed the door open before me, shoving me into the bathroom. He had to press up against me to fit, his back against the wall, and my back against his chest, and his arms were like iron girders, pinning me in place in front of the mirror I'd hung over the toilet. "What do you see, Quatre?"

"I see someone who should be sleeping, and someone who's going to get his ass kicked if he keeps this up," I grumbled. Trowa shook me, and I muttered several choice phrases under my breath in three languages.

"No. Look." He shook me again for emphasis. "Really look. Don't see  _you_. Just  _look_."

"Why?" I tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his fingers only tightened on my shoulders. "What's your point?"

"Shut up and look." Trowa shook me again. "I want you to see just a little bit of what I see."

I glared at him in the reflection, and dutifully turned to stare at myself. Trowa obviously felt himself provoked, and unless I wanted to get bitten, I would have to play along. I studied my reflection for a long moment, and gradually his hands relaxed on my arms, as I continued to stare.

My hair was brown, with coppery streaks in uneven chunky lengths. It made my skin look golden, rather than the pale tint I'd always had growing up on the colonies. My eyes were large, and a blue-green flecked with silver and ringed with a deeper blue around the outside edge of the iris. My nose was straight, and there was a scar under my left eye, barely noticeable, a slash from when Sandrock had detonated. My jaw was slightly square, my lips thin but firm, and I had a slight dimple in one cheek that I'd never noticed before. There was a line between my brows, which appeared and disappeared as my gaze darted around, catching every detail.

My neck wasn't too long or too short, but corded with muscles; my shoulders were broad, tapering down into my chest. The shirt I'd put on last night must've shrunk in the wash, because it was tight enough to show the outlines of my pectorals, the raised circles of the nipple rings, and the peak of my nipples. The mirror ended just below my ribcage, but I could see the shape of my body, moving from broad and powerful to slim and narrow.

"Keep looking," Trowa whispered in my ear, and I glanced at his reflection, a little annoyed. He sighed, and my glare got stronger. "Please, just try," he urged.

Sighing, I stared at myself, trying to see the image as someone on the street, a stranger, an unknown relative's picture in a photo album. The image wavered, caught, distancing itself, and I could see power in the flared nostrils, the slight aristocratic tilt of the chin, the arched eyebrow that disdainfully investigated the world and found it lacking. My eyes bored into me, back at me, and I almost flinched at the compressed passion and ruthlessness I felt emanating from the image.

A picture of someone born to get what he wants, who expects the world to be handed to him. Arrogant, proud, cold, even a bit cruel, uncaring of who pays the price, as long as his needs are satisfied. I shuddered, and looked away. I didn't want to be seen like that: a self-centered, jaded boy, who grew into a tyrannical weakling, protected from reality and pampered by sycophants.

It was too close to who I could have become, if I hadn't gotten out, and it scared me to see it staring at me from the mirror. Had I gotten nowhere, or was it only that this was who I was, when I fell back into being who I'd been with Trowa, or anyone from my past? Would I have to walk away from everything to kill that little tyrant in me? Was there no escape from falling back into such familiar routines, such a well-known way of seeing the world? Would I ever be different, be better, be complete, on my own? Once again, my thoughts ran too fast; I couldn't keep up. Frustrated, I shook my head at my confusion.

"I know that look," I said, shoving at Trowa to get out of the tiny bathroom. "It's called spoiled fucking brat. I've been seeing it my whole life."

"Quatre," Trowa called, from behind me. He almost sounded beseeching. "You're not—"

"Interested," I finished for him. "I don't want to be that person anymore!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, ignoring his hurt expression and not giving a damn. It felt good to shout, to scream and not care about appearances. I knew I wasn't making a lot of sense, but it was too late to stop the words coming from my mouth. "Stop trying to make me be what I used to be just so  _all of you know where you stand!_ "

Trowa blinked, then backed up a step, out of my reach. I was breathing heavily, and he dropped his eyes, nodding curtly.

"Okay," he said. Calmly he grabbed his coat from the drawer knob, shrugging into it with an efficiently graceful move, then picked up his duffle and slung it over his shoulder. He moved to the door, undoing the dead bolts and the chain with precise, quick gestures that telegraphed his true hurt. I couldn't feel it, though I could see it in the line of his shoulders and the downcast angle of his chin.

"Trowa," I said, very quietly.

"I did love you," he said, just as softly, but not turning around. "I loved you more than I could ever express, then or now or ever. But I didn't know who I was, or what I could be, and without a self to give love, I couldn't offer or take. As for why I couldn't love you now... well."

I couldn't move. I felt like my chest was being crushed.

He turned the doorknob, and the click echoed in the apartment, sounding like breaking glass in my ears. "It would be the easy way out to say that now, I can't, because of another. But the truth is, if I loved you once, I'll keep loving that person. But you aren't that person any more, and maybe you do need to figure it out on your own. When you do, we'll see about it, then."

The door swung open, creaking on old hinges. He didn't look behind him as he left.


	5. Chapter 5

The last day of exams rolled around, and at eleven-fifteen, I was turning in my exam only to find Lola, Felicia, and Chip were right behind me in line. Lisa waved from her seat, and I found myself being dragged to lunch.

"So," Chip said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "You've been person non exista for the past week. You'd better ace everything, with the studying you've been doing."

Actually, I thought I was going to be lucky if I passed Sanskrit. I'd spent my time since Trowa left putting serious thought into what he might've been trying to show me in the mirror, but all I ended up was giving myself sleepless nights. I just couldn't get enough distance to figure it out.

The most I'd been able to figure was that I'd been a prick, but I didn't know how to fix that. It seemed like the only thing I could do, really, was give Trowa a little time before I said anything, let alone apologized. I knew, intellectually, that he'd visited for friendly reasons. But emotionally it still rankled that he'd show up with the express purpose of asking for help getting Duo's attention. It was petty, but sometimes during study breaks, I felt like I'd been just the smallest bit justified for being cranky in response. Or maybe I hadn't. I just needed objectivity, somehow, and then maybe it'd start to make sense.

I realized Chip was waiting for a response, but I just shrugged instead of saying anything.

"Party tonight at my place, to celebrate," Lola said, giving me a hopeful look.

"Sure." I unbuttoned my coat when we entered the Wilson building, and smiled down at her. She responded with a brilliant grin. She didn't put her arm though mine, though, and I frowned. She stepped back, and I snagged her arm, tugging her closer with my arm over her shoulders. It was rather funny, in a distant way, how she tensed then relaxed into the curve of my arm. She fit perfectly.

Well, as perfectly as I was going to be able to manage.

"Cat?" Lola nudged me.

"Hm?"

"Lunch?" She pointed to the food court line, and I shrugged.

"I'll just have coffee," I said. "Not really hungry." And it was true. I hadn't had much of an appetite in the past week, between the aftermath of Trowa's visit and the stress of exams.

"My treat," she coaxed, leaning up to whisper in my ear. "Like a date."

"Ah," I said, chuckling. "But I'm still not hungry. Rain check."

"Rain check," she agreed.

I carried my coffee to the table, where Lisa joined the group and was ranting about the third question on Riley's exam. Lola slid her tray onto the table, and Chip immediately latched onto the fries. I sat beside Lola, and gave Felicia a quick smile. She relaxed almost imperceptibly, and offered me some of her green peppers.

"Take a day to recover, and you'll be ready for the holidays," Felicia promised. She was busy removing the green peppers from the deli sandwich. "You going home?"

"Home?" It hadn't even occurred to me. "No. Think I'll stay here for a bit."

"You're not going home?" Lisa stopped, a fry halfway to her mouth, her eyes round. "But think of all the food you'll be missing!"

And all the sisterly lectures, too, I grumbled. "I like the quiet," I said.

 

 

 

The party was not quiet. The party was closer to reaching noise levels equivalent only to three jet engines or one screaming baby. Lola was in her element, and I'd done my best to make up for a week of neglect. I wore the blue shirt she'd complimented once, and my cleanest jeans, though I didn't bother to lace my boots. I wasn't planning on moving a great deal, just standing by the wall and watching.

Felicia and Canh were at it again, and Felicia stuck by my side for an hour or two so we could partake in our tradition of a running commentary on everyone that walked past. Eventually she got fed up with watching Canh drool over freshmen, and went to remind him whose bed he really belonged in. Within minutes Lola appeared to take Felicia's empty spot, and I casually slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

I remembered the days I had to attend parties where people wore black ties, not choke chains masquerading as accessories. Or double-breasted suits, not old t-shirts with older work shirts thrown on overtop. The pants were tailor-made, not jeans off the rack with holes in the knees. And I mingled and chatted and smiled and kissed more cheeks than a politician at a baby-name convention. Well, I was a politician, in one way, wasn't I: the unofficial ambassador for Winner Conglomerate.

God, it had been insufferably boring. Problem was, I wasn't sure this was much better.

"What's wrong?" Lola tilted her head, giving me that worried look.

"Hunh?" I dragged my attention away from the crowd long enough to move my hand to her neck, brushing gently. I'd seen someone do it in a movie, once, and she melted against my hand.

"You seem awfully far away," she observed. "Ever since that friend of—"

I scowled, covering quickly with a laugh, and bent down to kiss her, hard. "We could get closer... "

"I'm one of the hosts," she protested, but I noticed she didn't let me pull away. When I opened my mouth to tease her, she took full advantage of it.

When we pulled apart, I raised my eyebrows at her, nudging her legs open with a knee. Lola groaned, and dug her fingers into my shirt, jerking me down to her level.

"Bastard," she insisted, and kissed me hard, again.

 

 

 

The noise was still thumping downstairs, which was fine by me. It'd covered the sounds of Lola moaning and whimpering as she thrashed on the bed. And it covered the sounds of my whispers, half-spoken chants calling her name, as though afraid I'd forget who it was, and want something different.

No, I told myself sternly, cupping a hand around her bare breast. This is fine. This is good. This is someone who sees I'm someone, too.

It didn't help.

"Where are you going now?" Lola rolled over on her stomach to lie across me, her chin on my sternum. "You just went away again... "

"You have a pointy chin," I informed her. "And I'm not going anywhere yet. Unless... " I twisted my lips into a smirk. " ...It's to the drawer for another condom."

"Hey," Lola protested, poking me in the armpit. "I am not walking funny to the train station tomorrow."

I laughed, twitching away from her fingers.

"You don't like your family much, do you," she whispered.

"I don't know. They're okay," I told her. "They mean well."

"All families do."

"Yeah." Duo's words came unbidden: there's more than one kind of family.

"So what are you going to do, with all that time on your hands?"

"Don't know." I ran my hand through her hair, scratching her scalp lightly, and she purred. "Catch up on my reading, hang out... never really had time to myself before."

"Mm," she murmured. "Don't stop that."

I chuckled, and within minutes, she was asleep.

 

 

 

The clock said it was three hours later when the music finally died down; tromping footsteps and softer voices in the hall signaled everyone departing. I'd been lying there the entire time, feeling Lola's body pressed up against mine in her small bed. The shadows cast by the first floor shop's neon sign, outside her window, were in shades of blue and red, beating in time with the music.

When she stirred, I'd go back to scratching her head, or running my fingers up and down her spine, and she'd drift into sleep. I waited, but sleep never came for me.

I'd start to drift away but the slightest sound had me awake, instantly. I simply couldn't relax enough, and it was only once the music faded that I realized it wasn't going to happen. I didn't know why, but I kept glancing towards the door, uncomfortable with the fact that the bed was under the window, and that she was between the door and me.

My exam-exhausted mind kept playing scenarios at the edge of sleep, causing me to jerk wide-awake, my breathing quick and light. What if someone burst through the door? Came through the window? How many? I knew I'd push Lola off the bed, and roll off after her... and then I'd remind myself, we are not at war.

But there was no one watching my back, and I couldn't sleep.

I exhaled slowly, and once again found myself cautiously crawling out from under her. She shifted, an arm reaching to embrace me in sleep, and I disengaged slowly before sliding off the end of the bed and digging for my jeans. I had just found my shirt when the bedclothes rustled, and Lola sat up.

"Another guest," she whispered, and it took me a second to place the jibe.

"No," I told her, leaning over to give her a quick kiss. "Just figure I should get back to my place."

"Cat... " She latched onto my shirt, puzzled. "You can stay. It's okay."

"Yeah, I know." I smiled for her, but it faded when I pulled the shirt over my head. I knelt down on the floor, looking for my socks. "But I should... "

"I guess." Lola was quiet, watching me dress, and when I stood, boots laced for once, she caught me by the hand. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends," I teased. "I can't cook, so if you're wanting breakfast in bed, it'll have to be doughnuts."

"No," she said, brushing her red hair out of her face. "That guy... your friend."

I stiffened, and she tugged on my hand again. "What about him?" She flinched, and I knew my tone had to be defensive. I tried again, softening my expression. "Sorry, I'm tired."

"You... he's someone you fought with, isn't he," she replied. The neon light bathed her in a flashing outline: blue, blue, red.

I was silent for several seconds, trying to decide how what to say. I couldn't, so instead I nodded curtly.

"From the wars. Someone you know from back then." Her grip tightened on my wrist, then relaxed to thread her fingers through mine.

"Lola." I sighed, unable or unwilling to explain. Where would I even start, and did I even want to try?

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But he... was  _scary_. And then... I looked at you, and you... " She shook her head. "I guess that's silly, but for a moment there... "

I was still trying to process the idea of Trowa as scary, not sure I wanted to follow the rest of her words and put myself in that category. I couldn't answer, and the silence stretched across the room, broken only by the faint clicking as the neon sign flashed outside the window. Blue, blue, red. Blue, blue, red.

I turned and knelt before Lola, resting my hands on her blanket-covered knees, as if in petition, and she stared down at me. There was a line between her brows and I reached up, pressing against it gently, before running my finger down her nose. "Lola," I sighed. I let my fingers run down further, past her mouth, to her collarbone, and down her sternum. I tugged at the edge of the blanket, revealing the curve of one smooth breast.

"I just wanted to apologize for not being... more friendly," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, too." I smiled, a little, trying to turn it into a joke, and ran my fingertip across the underside of her breast, smiling when her breath hitched. "He usually has better timing. And I think he was equally surprised, if that helps."

"He did get an eyeful," she said, laughing softly. She grew serious just as quickly. "But it was the way you both—"

"But it's a good eyeful," I told her, nuzzling my nose against her collarbone, and running my tongue along her skin, following the path of my fingers.

"Cat," she tried, valiantly, one last time. "It's just that sometimes you—"

I bit down on her nipple, and her words ended in a gasp.

"Oh... "

Lola arched her back, letting the blanket slip down. I gently pushed her backwards, my lips and tongue suckling harshly at her breast, while my hands dug into her waist. She wriggled backwards and I crawled with her, only breaking away long enough for her to pull the shirt over my head.

"I just got dressed," I protested, but my fingers were already dipping between her legs, stroking and tugging and investigating. She whimpered beneath me, and I smiled against her skin, moaning when her fingers clawed my skin when she tried to get my jeans off.

"You can do it again later," she promised. And then there was no conversation but the whispered pleas of two bodies, moving in gentle rhythm, echoed by the beat of neon: blue, blue, red.

 

 

 

I had to brace myself, one hand on the windowsill, or I would've collapsed on her.

"Need air," I said, panting. Her legs were locked around my waist, and I shifted, pulling out and falling on the bed beside her with a groan. "Woman," I told her. "You're going to kill me."

"No, it's the opposite," she said, humming as she rolled over to spread herself across me again. "Sex with you makes me surprised I don't have a sunburn afterwards."

I blinked, and raised my head up, giving her a bewildered look. "Did you just compliment me, or insult me?"

"I don't know," she answered, and ran her tongue across my nipple, tugging a little at the ring. I squirmed—I know I did, because she giggled and did it again. "Just that... you ever been to the desert, Cat?"

"The desert," I gasped, trying to keep up despite the lazy post-sex floating and the twinges shooting from my chest to my groin. "Ah... Lola... can't think... when you do that... "

"Mm," she purred, and licked my chest one more time. "The desert's pretty cool. The only time there's life is in the dark. And it's vibrant, but it's hidden. The rest of the time, it's all a mask. Gorgeous, but barren, and it keeps its secrets."

I did my best to stifle a sigh. Perhaps if I got her drunk, we could have sex without her being so damn poetic afterwards. I cancelled that idea. Drunk, she might end up ten times worse and I'd have to listen to her psychoanalyze me in three-part rhyme.

"There are a lot of different kinds of deserts," I finally said, not really sure what I meant. Her lips were trailing down my ribs, and I groaned. "Do I get a break, or not?"

"Hush, Cat," she ordered, and one hand came up to pat a finger across my lips. "If you're not going to sleep, then I'm going to get some more sun." I opened my mouth to say something, but I was silenced when she slipped two fingers into my mouth. I sucked fiercely. She giggled, disappearing under the blankets. Her fingers slid from my mouth, and I was about to protest when something warm and wet enveloped my crotch.

Wasn't much I could say after that but a few choice words to make sure she didn't stop.

 

 

 

I got back to my place at noon the next day, a newspaper-wrapped bundle under my arm. When I stepped through the door, it was a shock, now that I'd seen how another occupied space. My apartment seemed empty compared to Lola's; she had fanciful posters, scarves over the closet door, and an old rag rug by the bed. Every surface had been covered with something - rows of nail polish bottles on the old dresser, pens and pencils stuck in plastic cups with her high school's logo. Books, papers, old projects tossed in the corner with mismatched high heels. My place felt like a damn museum, an empty storage unit, a dead resource satellite.

I dropped the gift on the bed, and took a shower, first. The only benefit to the place was the massive water heater in the basement, and I took full advantage of it, scrubbing thoroughly in the hottest water I could manage. I wasn't sure why. It just seemed like what I needed to do.

We'd stayed up most of the night, with breaks while Lola napped. In those spaces filled only by her even breathing, I would sit by the window and run my fingers across her skin, marveling at the lack of scars, but my eyes were always on the street. The night was cold, overcast, the moment frozen, waiting for the right silhouette to come strolling down the sidewalk, pause, and look up towards the window as if calling me down.

When she'd wake, I'd lie to her, and tell her I'd been sleeping, too.

I saw her to the train station, and she pushed the gift into my hands with a casual laugh but tightness around the eyes that belied her nervousness. I hadn't expected a gift, and I hadn't planned on one in return. Don't open it until you get home, she said. I didn't get you anything, I replied, and she laughed and said I'd given enough.

Returning to the bed, I collapsed cross-legged, shivering a bit in the cool air as the water dried on my skin. One towel was around my hips, the other around my neck, and I wondered why I bothered with modesty when there was no one around to see me. Chuckling and yawning at the same time, I studied the newspaper wrapping, and tentatively shook the box again.

It was thick, and a little heavy, about the size of a shirt box, but she'd sworn it wasn't clothes. And there was something rattling in there, too. I wondered why she used newspaper, and wondered what kind of a budget she was on. I knew she had a brother who'd been in the Alliance, during the first war. I knew her parents were divorced, and had been since she was in grade school. I really didn't know much other than that. I didn't even know - and hadn't asked - where she was going to stay over the break.

Sighing, I opened the gift, figuring I'd put it off long enough. The newspaper tore away, revealed a box, which I opened... and inside was a medium-sized tin, and a large sketchbook. Stunned, I opened the tin to see a row of chalks lined up, colors from white to black and in-between, stout and powdery against my fingertips. Unlike Wufei, she'd included a note.

 _Use all the colors_.

I will, I promised her silently. Then I pushed everything aside, tugged the blanket over me, and crashed out for the next twelve hours.

 

 

 

When I woke up, it suddenly hit me that everyone else was gone, and I didn't have classes the next day, or the day after that. Stunned, I threw the towel off and dressed quickly, shivering a little in the chilly room. Then I stood in a circle, almost as if seeing the place for the first time. It took me about ten minutes to snap out of it, and I checked my watch. Liquor store wasn't closed yet, and for what I had planned, I'd need alcohol.

Out the door in two minutes, down the block, for a bottle of vodka, orange juice, a deli sandwich, and a few extra items that the man stocking shelves swore would do the trick if nothing else. I bundled it all up and lugged it back to my place despite the sideways wind sending icicles down my neck. At the very least, the vodka would be nicely chilled, I assured myself.

It was nearly ten when I got back, and I set everything on the counter and stared at my apartment for several long minutes. Taking a deep breath, I rolled up my sleeves, made sure I was wearing clothes - as the man suggested - that I wouldn't miss if they were ruined. Then I put on the bright pink gloves - not without a slight groan - and the scrubbing sponges. I peeled the cap off the scouring powder, read the directions thoroughly, and headed into the bathroom. My bathroom - well, my entire apartment - was filthy. I'd had enough of it.

War was not hell. War was purgatory. My bathroom floor was hell.

The guy at the bodega was right, though I wasn't sure how he'd known. It took an entire bottle of the scouring powder before I could see the tiles on the shower and the bathroom floor. The toilet, I found, really was white, inside and out. So was the sink. I moved on to the stove, the sink, the countertops, and by three in the morning I was scrubbing fingerprints off the doorjambs.

It's not that I liked living with dirt. And it's not like I hadn't had the time to clean up, before. I had cleaned a little, here and there, but most of the time, I just didn't notice. A lifetime of having other people clean up after me, and I simply didn't see dirt anymore. Why should I bother? Wouldn't someone be along eventually to take care of it?

Six months, and no one had come along. And unless I wanted to keep living in the midst of some pretty nasty messes, it was about time I do it myself.

The sun was just starting to come up when I rinsed out the sponge and pulled off the horrendous gloves and shoved them under the kitchen sink. I wet down a dirty shirt and cleaned off the windows, unsurprised when the fresh water formed a thin sheet of ice on the glass. Heat wasn't the apartment's strong point, but I kept moving, and the cold didn't bother me.

Actually, I didn't think I'd worked out that furiously in months. Cleaning is a lot harder than people realize, plus the fumes are worse than vernier engine stripper. I sorted my clothes into clean and dirty, and neatly folded and put away the few clean clothes. The dirty ones were shoved into a pillowcase and left by the door. I was considering doing laundry, until I noticed the time. Exhausted, I fell back into bed, fully dressed, and slept until four.

 

 

 

I had a headache and an appetite when I woke. Both were fixed with a sandwich, shot of vodka, and then I went down to do my laundry. On the way back up the five flights of stairs, I noticed several pieces of furniture left in the hallway by departing students.

My evening became an adventure in moving, starting with one small dresser, which fit all my clothes with a little room to spare. I stacked the plastic crates by the door, undecided on their fate. Next came two folding chairs, one with a cracked seat, from the third floor, and a card table from the second floor stairwell. I found a cool blue lamp that sparked when I plugged it in, but I knew I could fix that. And someone had dumped blanket in the basement. It had coffee stains on one side, but those were easily hidden when I folded it in half and taped it up over the window to keep out the cold.

By midnight, my clothes were clean, dry, folded, and put away. I wasn't sure whether to drink the rest of the bottle in congratulations or collapse on the floor after being so industrious.

But something was missing. I tapped my hand against my thigh, feeling the twinges of old aches in my shoulders and knees as the cold seeped past the blanket's edges. I ran over the list in my head: table, chairs, clean kitchen, need to figure out hooks to hang coats by the door. I also decided I wanted two hooks in the bathroom for towels and no more dropping them on the floor behind me.

Maybe I'd get a bathmat, too, when I got my monthly check in a week.

That's when I realized what was missing: I wanted to tell someone. It was just past midnight, so it'd be about eight in the morning Duo's time. My hand hovered over the phone while I dug for the calling card I'd carried in my wallet most of the semester. But then I pulled my hand back, uncertain.

I wanted to tell someone, but I doubted it'd really be that exciting. Duo probably cleaned on a regular basis, judging from Trowa's comment. The state of his place when I'd visited... if that was the everyday status, me cleaning for the first time wasn't a victory. It was a farce.

Maybe Heero, I thought, and cancelled that, as well. He'd be just leaving for work now, and besides, he'd had his own apartment for two years now. This certainly isn't such a big thing for him, either. And Wufei... no, Wufei would probably snort and ask me why I didn't hire a maid service rather than tackle six months of cleaning on my own. It'd be his version of teasing but... I didn't want to be teased.

I wanted someone to pat me on the back, that's what I wanted.

The thought made me suddenly angry, and for a split second, I was tempted to tear open the window and throw out everything I'd achieved. Dirty it up. Mess it up. But just as quickly the feeling passed, and I settled down on the less rickety of the two chairs, and dragged my new sketchbook towards me.

I hadn't drawn since Trowa came to visit. And I'd never drawn anything using chalk before. I took a shot of vodka, hissed when it hit my throat, and followed with a long swig of orange juice. I stretched my arms over my head, took a deep breath, picked out the blue stick of chalk, and touched it to paper. The first line was light, jagged, uncertain, and then I let my eyes fall half-closed and my arm moved of its own accord and the whoosh of the chalk slipping across the paper, scratching as it curved...

An hour later I finally had a sketch of Duo that I was happy with. It was completely in blue, a shade just lighter than the royal blue of his eyes. I stared at it for a bit, seeing the few lines implying his impish grin, looking backwards over his shoulder at me, long strokes to indicate his braid flying from the movement of his head. I fingered the edge of the paper, then carefully ripped it from the book. Grabbing the tape roll I'd used to put up the blanket, I taped Duo to the wall, over my bed. I stood, looking at him for a long time, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Look, Duo," I said. I downed the shot and wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist, feeling like an idiot and not caring. "Clean, hunh. Bet you wish you could've seen me wearing pink gloves."

And then I had another shot, another sip of orange juice, and drew Trowa in green. I drew him as he'd been by the kitchen sink, the look of surprise and amusement on his face when I handed him the beer. Eyebrows barely arched, a whisp of chalk for his thin lips, a long line for the curve of his jaw. I taped him next to Duo, and introduced them to each other. I made them promise to take care of each other.

I drew Heero at the range, the taunting smile on his face as he dared me to join him. With the fourth shot of vodka - or perhaps it was the fifth - it dawned on me that Heero's expression had not been a smirk but a genuine, shy smile. It was  _me_  that had been smirking. I nearly crossed out the portrait, a big red X of chalk, angry with myself. But I didn't, unable to destroy what I'd already spent an hour trying to achieve, in quick sketch after quick sketch... and eventually, I taped Heero next to Duo, and made them both promise to always care for each other, no matter what.

Wufei came next, drawing him as I'd seen him last. That pleased look - just the merest twist of the lips - when I'd congratulated him on a dangerous mission gone well. What you saw was not what you got with Wufei and it wasn't even close to what was really there. I'd known that for years. But when you were allowed to see the merest bit, it was a compliment. Few even got that much. His was the simplest of the ones so far—a hint of the curve of his brows, the set of his chin, the tilt of his head.

I put him on the wall, next to Trowa, and thanked him for his gift.

After them, I drew Relena, then Lola. Then Lisa, and Sally, and the light of dawn was creeping past the blanket edges when I tried to draw Felicia, Hilde, then Canh. I ripped off page after page, working through the chalk, and by the time I got to drawing Chip, I had figured out that using a little bit of white chalk on top of a colored line gave the illusion of highlights above the simple lines.

When I fell asleep, my head on the half-full sketchbook, it was twelve hours later, and I'd done fourteen sketches. They hung around my apartment, smiling at me the way I wished they always would in person.

 

 

 

For three days, I slept, drank, ate macaroni and cheese while continuing to draw. I finished the book on the third day, and lay on my back staring at the pictures. Then I drew the apartment: the kitchen-pantry, the door to the bathroom—the half-open perspective was frustrating—and then the dresser, with my textbooks stacked on top of my laptop. After all the time I'd spent studying Gundam design plans, drawing perspective was far easier than people. I wondered why I'd never tried it before.

I experimented with colors, and went from one color to using all of them in one picture, with no basis in what color the real world was. I lay under my card table and drew the underside and one of the chairs, and nearly tore up the pictures when I couldn't get it right. I found myself laughing when I did.

It was nine o'clock at night, and I had a wall of portraits, and another wall of still lives. I'd draw my feet, stacks of clothes, my coat on the wall, the fire escape out my window. My hands were cramped, and I'd even taken to trying to draw with my left hand to give my right hand a break. I couldn't draw faces quite as well, but I could manage perspective better with my left hand.

On pure impulse, I decided it was time to get out of the apartment, and find more to draw. First I needed more paper, but that was easily obtained—I checked my wallet, and thought I might be able to manage something cheap. The art store on campus wouldn't be open, but the big market six blocks away might have something if I stopped by the next day. Staring up at the portraits, I studied the ones of Relena and the other pilots.

It was a long moment before I decided, and then I took each down, rolling them up carefully. Tucking them gently inside my coat, I put on my boots, grabbed my keys off the counter, and headed to the all-night mail stop.

 

 

 

The bar was on the way back from the mail stop, and I stepped in, nodding to the doorman as I filed past with other college students who hadn't yet left town for the holidays. I didn't have ID, but I'd never been carded. Lola told me once that as long as I kept ordering only one brand of expensive whiskey, they'd assume I was old enough to drink.

I ordered a shot of whiskey, neat, and leaned against the bar to watch the crowd filing in. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I realized I missed Lola, but it was a faint kind of loneliness. My entire mind was too preoccupied with visualizing the line of chalk, scraping across the rough paper.

"Hey, band's playing tonight," someone said, and I looked up to see one of the doormen holding a set of ticket stubs and a wad of credits. "Twenty if you're going to stay."

"Not planning on it," I told him.

"You should stay," a guy's voice said from behind me. I turned to see a man with jet-black hair cropped short, grinning at me. He was dressed in black from jacket to boot, but his smile was infectious. "It's a great band."

"I'm sure it is, but—"

"Here," the guy said, handing the doorman a handful of credits. "Two. For both of us."

"That's really not—"

"Come'on, stay, you'll like 'em, I promise," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. He leaned close enough for me to see he had gray eyes, his grin getting wider as I leaned away from him, startled. "And if you don't like 'em, your tab's on me."

"Ah... " I managed a smile back at him. "I have expensive tastes."

"That's cool. So do I," he replied. "Whatcha drinking?"

"Twelve-year single malt." I tipped the empty glass at him, and he whistled.

"Jamie," he said, and stuck out his hand.

"Cat," I replied, shaking it. The whiskey had dampened my senses and I was sitting at the end of an exhausting several days, but I could feel the sincerity, and a strange trill of excitement coming from him. I managed a tired smile. "Thanks for the ticket."

"No problem, man, just here to spread the good word." Jamie leaned forward and winked at me. "My little sister is the lead singer for the second band playing."

I started laughing. "So you're on a one-man mission to make sure the place has as many bodies as possible?"

He grinned and waved for the bartender. "Another one of those for him, and a Manhattan for me." Jamie slanted a look at me, his smile turning devilish. "More like a five-man mission. She's the youngest. That woman over there's my eldest sister—" he jerked his head towards a dark-haired woman chatting with several college students I vaguely recognized. "And my other brothers are around here somewhere."

"Family affair," I said, chuckling. "Yeah, I'm familiar with that."

Jamie gave me an appraising look, but it was mostly teasing. "You have the look of a man with older sisters."

You have no earthly idea, I thought, but shrugged and grinned.

"We've got to stick together, man!" He clapped me on the back again, our drinks arrived, and he insisted on a toast. "Tradition," he insisted.

"We just met," I protested.

"Gotta start them somewhere, right?"

 

 

 

The band wasn't that bad. Actually, the band was decent, and the lead singer was petite and fiery with a powerful voice. For all Jamie's insistence that his family had probably spent as much packing the place as the band would make that night, it seemed to me that his sister's band might not need his help. The college students had come out in droves.

The problem with college students in droves, after exams, with alcohol, is the reason I rarely came to bars except when Chip and his friends dragged me out.

Brawls.

The first started not far away, and I managed to avoid the flying bar stool, finishing off my whiskey rather than risk getting bumped while I was drinking. Two doormen wrestled the kids off each other, and we had peace for ten minutes. Then several students got mad Jamie's sister's band hadn't left the stage yet, while the band's loyal fans took exception to such catcalls.

Jamie tapped me on the shoulder, and when I raised my eyebrows at him, he motioned for my coat. I grinned and handed it to him, watching as he passed it over the bar into the bartender's waiting arms, along with Jamie's leather jacket. Jamie turned around, pushing up his sleeves, and I did the same.

We waded into the midst of the melee, and I know I had a grin on my face to rival Duo's worst. Elbow to one chest, dodge a fist, backhand. Grab a kid by the scruff of his neck, spin him around and shove him into the nearest doorman, who hauled him off. Someone got me in the back of the knee, and I dropped to the floor and swept the feet out from under three people—including Jamie.

"Sorry, man," I said, about to help him up.

"Behind," he gasped, pointing.

I twisted, blocking the punch. Left-hook to the jaw. The guy went straight down. "Crap," I said, shaking my hand out. "What the hell, you got a metal plate in there?"

"Cat," Jamie said, laughing. He draped an arm over my shoulder and I tensed for a moment, but he didn't let go, and gradually I relaxed. "Cat, Cat," he repeated. "Do not, and I tell you again to make sure, do not ever get mad at me. Please."

"I'm not that bad," I told him. "I just—"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, shoving me away.

"You," one of the doormen said, pointing at me.

We moved away from the center of the floor, and the band's fans, demanding an encore, soon filled the gap. The doorman led us to the back end of the bar, and spread his legs, crossing his arms over his chest. He was at least a head shorter than me and twice as wide, with keys jangling from his belt and his dreadlocks far back on his head. He was balding, a little, but doing it with style, I decided. I stared at him, memorizing his face. Definitely an interesting face to draw.

"Sorry about that," I said, giving him a polite smile. "I'll get my coat and go."

"Go?" The doorman opened his eyes wide, then laughed. "Screw that. Wanna job?"

It took only a half-second. "Hours?"

"Eight to three, four or five nights a week. Sometimes out earlier if it's dead."

Next to me, Jamie nudged me and I elbowed him right back. He had the same kind of instant-friendship attitude Maxwell had demonstrated, after the wars, once he'd let down his guard. I elbowed Jamie a second time for good measure, and nodded to the doorman.

"Pay scale?"

He named a rate, and I shrugged. Not like I had anything to compare it to, really. I never even got paychecks from Winner Conglomerate. It had gone straight into an account.

"Start date?"

"Tomorrow night," the doorman said. "The guy who started that last fight was a doorman." He gave me a toothy grin and stuck out his hand. "Fred. Head doorman."

"Cat. Not head doorman."

"Cat, yeah," Fred said, laughing some more. He seemed to find the entire thing too funny, and I gave him a mildly bemused look. It only made him laugh harder. "Meow, boy, I won't rub you the wrong way. Got fifteen minutes for paperwork?"

With Jamie egging me on in the background, I followed Fred into the bar's office.

 

 

 

Jamie left with me, and we walked down the street, laughing about the fight. It felt like I was back in a place where I belonged, to fight at someone's side. Granted, Jamie was nowhere near the caliber I'd been used to with Heero, or Wufei—or even Trowa. Jamie was, at best, where Maxwell might've been at age six. But he had spirit, and had struck out with force and taken his blows with a grin.

"So you just finished school? Or one more semester?" Jamie stretched his arms over his head, and groaned, grabbing his ribs. "Man, that kid could punch."

"I'm a sophomore," I admitted.

"No shit," Jamie cried, backing up and looking me over, head to toe. I pretended to glower, and he grinned. I smiled back, and he bent over laughing. "Hell, now you look sixteen."

I went back to glowering.

"Just giving you hell, man," Jamie assured me. "So, what did that guy say? Did you tell him? Ya gotta be twenty-one to work a bar—"

"I told him," I said, a bit smugly. "And he said pity my birth certificate was incorrect. I start tomorrow night."

"Incorrect!" Jamie hooted, and threw his arm over my shoulder. "Just don't smile, man, or they'll—no," he stopped, and gave me a sideways look. "Smile like you did during the fight. Man, that was some scary shit on your face."

"Me?" I twitched, a bit uncomfortably. "I wasn't—"

"Someone should take a picture and show you," Jamie said, releasing me. He stopped by a set of steps leading up to a door, between two shop fronts. "My place," he announced. "Come up, we'll get a drink. No twelve-year scotch, but I've got beer."

"Beer's fine," I said, not really sure why I was agreeing, but it wasn't like I had anything better to do.


	6. Chapter 6

_He checks the list of things to do, things that he's been putting off until he has time. The car pulls out of the lot, its engine purring sweetly, and he grins to feel that strange pull of new tires on the road. It's a squishy, graceless tug as the thick tires hug each curve, and he leans instinctively when he takes a right, keeping the turn as tight as possible._

_It's not a Gundam, but it's the closest he gets on a daily basis._

_First stop, he decides, is the mall. It's a few miles up the road, and he never gets to go there, but he recalls an ad on the radio about a home appliance sale. The dishwasher is dying, and he's tired of listening to it rattle._

_Quatre laughs, and ignores anyone in other cars who might wonder at a man laughing to himself. The radio's not even on, and he's not talking on a cell phone, but he doesn't care. It strikes him as utterly ridiculous that his life is so bizarre that a trip to the mall to buy a dishwasher would be such an unusual event. He checks his watch, and decides he has a bit of time before his flight._

_Maybe, he thinks, he'll get one in purple. Wouldn't that be a surprise?_

 

  

 

We ended up sprawled across Jamie's couch, watching some old movie on the vid-screen and catcalling every bad gun move, faked shot, and planned explosion. He never said, but I suspected he had time in one of the military groups, back during the war. He was five or six years older than me, I gathered, which would have put him at twenty or so during the first Eve War. In my inebriated state, I figured that meant he was at least twenty-four, but he sure felt the same age as me at that point.

Three beers later and I ended up slouched against him, one foot propped up on the end of the sofa. His arm had come down across my chest when he'd reached for another beer from the coffee table, and he hadn't moved it. I hadn't tensed, too relaxed with the beer, and something else thrumming in my blood. His chest was firm against my back and shoulder, and his gray eyes were amused. When he laughed, he'd throw back his head, and I couldn't help but laugh, too.

"You have a lot of colors," I told him.

"I... what?" Jamie paused from staring at the mouth of his bottle held upside down, making sure it was really empty. He looked around his apartment, then at me. "You mean, like, in the apartment?"

"Yeah." I waved my beer at the curtains. "Like those." They were stripes, in orange, blue, and green. Garish, but definitely colorful.

"Don't be picking on my decorating scheme," he growled, and the sound made my stomach flip. I twisted my head to look up at him, and slipped sideways down his chest. "Whoa, Cat," he said, and his arm tightened, his hand catching me around the ribs. His hand was warm, and when he moved it, I could feel the imprint of heat for several seconds longer.

"Yeah, sure," I said, not certain what I was replying to and not caring. I twisted on the sofa until I was lying with my head on his knees, and kicked my other leg up to sprawl the full length of the sofa. "I like your decorating scheme." I pointed with the beer to the posters over the sofa. "What are those?"

"What are what?" He twisted, leaning over to get a better look—or so it seemed—and chuckled at the posters. "Video game ads. My brother gets those from the store where he works."

"Which brother?" I put the bottle to my lips, and spilled a little down my chin. It was an awkward angle for drinking.

"Tim, the second oldest," he said, and his eyes crinkled. "You're a messy drinker." His hand swiped across my chin, fingertips across my lip.

I opened my mouth, and let my tongue drag across his fingers. He hissed, and my stomach clenched. Something flooded my body, a crucial, bone-deep want. It caught me completely off-guard, and all I could do was stare at him, wide-eyed. He said something else, but I only saw his lips moving. I nodded, not really caring, too focused on hanging there, splayed across his sofa as though utterly relaxed... except I wasn't. Every muscle was  _aching_.

Jamie licked his lips, and I held up my beer. He didn't look away as he took it from me, leaning over me to set it on the table and then his face was hovering above mine. The dark of his pupils had swallowed the iris and I opened my mouth, panting, and wondering why my breathing was coming so fast—

And then his mouth was on mine, my hands coming up to hold him by the jaw. Twisting my head, I shoved my tongue into his mouth, groaning when he pulled away to bite my lower lip, tugging at it. One of his hands was in my hair, the other gliding up and down my chest, and I was tensing, arching, trying to tell him  _more_ —

It was terrifying, it was exhilarating, it was— Oh god, I wanted his hands everywhere and I wanted my hands on him—

I reached for his waist, tugging at his shirt, barely aware he was pulling me upright. I wanted skin; I wanted contact. I leaned against him, crawling forward and around, his greedy mouth never leaving mine. He guided me to straddle his lap and I bit back a cry, feeling my dick pressing against his groin, equally hard. I pushed, and tilted my hips, pushing again, rocking, and Jamie groaned. That single sound shot straight through me, and suddenly I pulled back, ripping his shirt up.

"Cat," he muttered, but I didn't stop, couldn't stop. I curled over, bent my head to reach his skin, to taste, to devour. I ran my fingers, then my tongue, across the dark hair up his chest and around his nipples, craving the coarse sensation on my palms, my lips. I found his nipples and I tugged, pinched, then bit, suckled fiercely. Jamie gave a guttural cry and arched his back. His fingers clawed at my skin, pulling up my shirt, slipping down my stomach to unbutton my jeans. I mirrored his actions, tugging at his jeans. I wanted desperately to peel them back and slip my hand inside.

Jamie dragged my mouth from his chest, and I pressed his shoulders against the sofa, kissing him deeply. He fought back with every stab of his tongue, and in one move, flipped me over on the sofa, grinding his crotch against mine. I tensed, pulling him down to me, and shoved us back upright, pinning his wrists to the sofa. He chuckled into my mouth and I grinned, and slammed my groin against his. His laughter became a growl, his eyes glazed, then I worked a hand free and shoved it down into his jeans.

At that instant, I went from drunk to sober in faster than Sandrocks' verniers could fire.

"Oh my god," I said, falling backwards, stunned. I quickly pulled my hand from his jeans. If there had been any one point to wake me up, it was the second I put my hand on his cock. He was male, undeniably male, but that wasn't the problem.

Lola.

"Cat, is there... " Jamie's smile faded. "What's... "

I scrambled backwards off the sofa, falling to the floor. I was up immediately, stumbling away from him. I couldn't look him in the eye when he came to his feet, his expression bewildered.

"Cat... "

"I have to—to go," I choked out, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I just... I have to—"

Jamie's hands came out, palms up. "Wait, don't—"

"I'm sorry," I repeated, feeling ill. "I want to, but I can't—" I grabbed my shirt and darted away from him, aiming for the door. I knocked into the kitchen table, and Jamie took another step forward. "I'm sorry," I said again, reaching for the doorknob.

He closed his mouth with an audible snap and grabbed his jeans, yanking them on with a sigh. "Don't run away. Please." He stood up, giving me an inscrutable look and ran a hand through his hair. "At least tell me—"

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, unable to manage any more than that, with the alcohol making my brain dull, my tongue thick. I pulled on my coat, fumbling with the zipper and giving up. I was bare-chested underneath, but it didn't matter compared to Jamie's hurt and baffled look. I had to get away from him, away from my almost-stupidity, away... I opened the door, backing into the hallway. "I have to go," I told him. "I shouldn't be here. I want to, but I—"

I wanted to go back to him, and keep kissing him; I wanted to lie down on his doorstep and pass out. I wanted to explain to him that I was a jerk, for kissing him when I was with someone already. I wanted to tell him that she wasn't the one I wanted and that made me twice a jerk. I wanted to say I had enough screw-ups in my life and didn't need more.

I couldn't say any of it. Jamie stayed where he was, frowning a little, confused, one hand out, reaching for me. I couldn't even summon the energy to slam the door. I left, shirt and socks in hand. I walked the seven blocks to my place, and the sleet pelting my chest was warmer by far than the pain in my heart.

 

 

 

It took nearly thirty minutes in the hottest water I could stand before I stopped shivering. I leaned against the tiled wall, my fingers digging into the grout, until my arms gave way. I pressed my forehead against the tile and wondered why I was still shaking despite the intense heat pelting my body.

Eventually I stumbled from the shower and toweling myself down furiously. Quickly I put on a shirt, and a sweatshirt, then my jeans, a pair of socks, and crawled into bed, huddling beneath the blankets. I felt chilled to the bone, a cold ache deep in my chest that I couldn't mask or free or relieve.

What I really wanted was someone to make me tea, I complained to myself. Or maybe bring me a shot of vodka. Between the two, vodka took less effort. Keeping the blanket wrapped around me, I retrieved the bottle and returned to bed. Unscrewing the cap, I took a long swig and stared up at the empty spaces on the wall, in the middle of my row of portraits.

"Here's to the fact that I am a complete and utter idiot," I announced, raising the bottle and taking a second long drag. I choked, sputtering a little, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "And can't fuckin' drink without spilling," I added.

That reminded me of spilling the beer, and the drops on my chin, and Jamie and his lips on my body and... I wanted to smash the bottle against the wall, but instead I gripped it tightly, staring up at the empty spaces.

I didn't know what I had with Lola. We'd only messed around a few times, had sex a few times, and it didn't seem like it was an exclusive thing. But my actions felt like a betrayal, nonetheless. I set the bottle on the floor next to me, gripping the neck tightly as though it were a crutch to hold me up. Betrayal by sleeping with someone else—but was it enough to simply  _want_  to be with someone else? Thought and deed; I was too drunk to thresh out the difference. That I'd wanted him, I couldn't deny, and that alone branded me as cheating on her.

But hell, I reminded myself drunkenly, I'm not exactly being all there for her, either. There was no need to consider it; I'd never tell her about Jamie. Out of the question; it was one more thing for the list in my head. War, wealth, genocide... and messing around with some guy I met in a bar over winter break.

I laughed, bitterly.

Lola wouldn't be able to handle the truth of who I was. Unless she'd been there, seen what I'd seen, how could she? How could anyone? Fuck, I was there, and I couldn't handle it some days. I knew her well enough to know she'd insist she could try, she would listen... but she'd be like the servants at my sister's houses, and some of my sister, even. They all knew I'd been a pilot. They watched me, with distant eyes, guarded, uncertain. They knew...

And they regretted knowing.

No, I thought, and shook my head to emphasize the decision. Far better to protect Lola by letting her keep her ignorance.

I took another drink, dimly registering that I'd been drinking for nearly eight hours with no food. Before I'd left the apartment I'd had two shots, several more drinks at the club, and five more beers. It said something for my instinctive self-control, I supposed, that I could go fist-first into a fight and there were no casualties. And it said something for my utter bullheadedness that I could walk home in driving sleet.

I waved the vodka bottle, studying the last swallow's worth swirling in the bottom. I had to wipe my mouth again, as well as my eyes. I laid back, letting the bottle tip over and roll across the mattress to hit the floor, echoing as it rolled further. An empty sound, in an empty apartment, like the emptiness in my chest. I stared up at the gaps on the portrait wall.

"Hey, everyone," I said. "Hope you like your pictures."

 

 

 

I woke up three hours later, dragged myself to the bathroom, and threw up until I was only dry heaving. I fell back against the wall, gasping, and wished the room would stop spinning. I had to laugh at myself, crawling to the pantry and dragging myself up the cabinet to drink three or four mugs of water from the tap. The city water had a bitter taste, but it was still better than the vile flavor on my tongue. Taking a last full mug of water with me, I crawled back into bed, pulled the blanket over my head, and went back to sleep.

 

 

 

"That's John," Fred told me. "And Del, Rich, and Boo." I blinked at the last name on the list, but the guy by the door—all six-five and two-hundred-fifty pounds—didn't look like someone I'd ask for the origin of his nickname. Then again, I'd introduced myself as Cat. I wasn't in a position to throw stones. Hell, at that point, I felt like I'd be lucky to pick one up, let alone muster the energy to throw it.

"Hey, Cat... right?" Del leaned forward, shaking my hand. He was about five-eight, with a wicked grin, and a shaved head that revealed a wildly colored tattoo in abstract designs over his left ear. "You'll be working the back exit with me tonight," he said, beckoning me out of the office and down the hall towards the stairs. "All you need to do is look pissed-off and don't let anyone backstage."

"Pissed-off?" I gave him a wry look. "I'll see if I can manage."

The first hour or so was busy, although I was mostly in one place, leaning against the wall. The bands had loaded and done their sound checks, and most of the traffic past me was staff and band members heading to the band area downstairs, or out the back to the loading dock. All I had to do was make sure every person past me was wearing a badge—either employee or band—and while I noticed some people my age drifting closer to me, none passed except those who were supposed to be.

"Bored yet?" Del came up, handing me a bottle of water. "Any trouble?"

"No," I said, and took a long drink of the water. It was cool, and I don't think I've tasted water that good in months. Crisp, and a bit chilled. I took another long swig, and Del raised his eyebrows. "Fuck, it's hot in here," I told him. I wiped my forehead with my arm, and took another drink of water, finishing off the bottle. "And," I told him, tossing the bottle into the trash, "my feet are fucking killing me."

"Get better boots," he suggested. "And inserts." He pointed down at his boots, a pair of bright green boots laced up tightly. "Your feet will love you for it."

I had a break after an hour or two, and was sent to empty the drink tubs in the bands' rooms. A half-hour of moving back and forth from the bar, down the stairs, into the band rooms, up the stairs with a tub of melting water, and back to the bar... my body was glad of the chance to move, but my feet weren't any happier than they'd been from standing around. The end of the break, and I ended up by the back door again. Del came by to check on me, and I gave him a sour look.

"So much for all the pretty girls trying to make nice with me," I complained. He took one look around, realized the crowd was keeping clear a good twenty feet, and started laughing hard enough to make the soundman lean over from his box above us.

"Nothing, we're cool," Del yelled up to Rich, who rolled his eyes, shook his head of bushy hair, and put the headphones back on. I leaned against the wall, smirking at Del, who stood next to me, hands in his pockets. "See, this is one of the more boring jobs," he said. "Well, they're all boring, but if you can handle this, you'll do okay with the rest. Although... " He grinned at the girls giving me frightened looks. "Maybe we should just set up a little stool for you, and keep you here on every busy night."

I glared at him, and Del backed up a half step, his hands raised. "Come on, man, just kidding. Tomorrow night, you'll work a different spot, until you've done all of them, and then we'll have you on rotation."

"Good," I said, my gaze drifting back to the crowd pushing around the edge of the dance floor nearest the exit. First Lola, then Jamie... maybe they were right. Maybe there was something in the way I could look that frightened people. It wasn't like I meant to, but if I could figure out when I was doing it, having a scary look—as Lola put it—might come in handy every now and then.

 

 

 

I got home at two in the morning. The cool air, cutting after the club's heat, felt good on my skin. It sliced across my face, whipping my hair into my eyes, and I took my time walking to my apartment. Fred had thrown me out when they closed the doors, promising me I could wear myself out loading the trucks once I was used to being on my feet in a noisy club all night long.

I think I almost fell asleep leaning against the door as I shoved my key in the lock, and when the door opened, I fell into my apartment. My chest was tight and I felt shaky, on top of being exhausted. Several cups of water by the sink, and I shoved off, aiming for the bathroom. A long shower and I felt cleaner, but the heat wiped me out, and I landed on the bed and was asleep immediately.

Break was halfway over, but I focused on the days and not on upcoming classes. I slept until one, got up, went out for a late lunch, and came back to do a few chores, maybe some laundry. The cigarette smoke in the club was intense, and I found myself washing more often just to have something that didn't reek. By seven each day I was at work, having dinner in the club's kitchen with Del and Boo, who turned out to be a phenomenal cook. I tried to learn by watching, and on my first night off, attempted to duplicate his spaghetti sauce. I ended up with an apartment full of smoke, a scorched pan, and a bad cough.

The cough had been building, but with the days of walking back and forth through the cold, that was no surprise. I wrote it off as something Doctor O's shots would only be able to prevent for so long. It wasn't like I'd been planning on living through Operation Meteor, after all, so why would he have bothered with anything but the most powerful, short-term rounds? So I bundled up as best I could, and when my monthly stipend check arrived, I got myself a bathmat, a heating blanket, and wool socks.

And despite keeping my eyes on the crowd every night, I didn't see Jamie even once. Eventually I put it down on the list of one more thing in my life that could've been good that I'd fucked up somehow.

 

 

 

Classes started that following Monday, and I was leaving Wilson building when I ran into Felicia and Lisa. Felicia gave me a hug and laughed when I spun her around.

"Got your schedule?" She leaned past me to wink at Lisa, and I gave them both a suspicious look.

"Yeah." I obediently dug in my pockets and pulled it out. Lisa snatched it, making a tsk'ing sound under her breath. I peered over her shoulder, confused. "What are you doing? What's wrong with my—"

"Come on, Cat," Lisa said, snagging my arm and pulling me backwards into Wilson.

"Hell, what is it with you people always fuckin' dragging me places?" I surged forward, only to be blocked by Felicia. "I wanted to stop by Frazier—"

"Nope," Felicia announced. "You're going to add-drop with us."

"What for?" I braced myself, crossing my arms, and did my best to ignore Lisa tugging at my sleeve, trying to pull me off-balance. I gave her a dark look, sideways. "Lisa, I out-weight you and out-height me. Don't even—"

Felicia shoved me and I tilted. The two girls shrieked, spun me, and dragged me back into Wilson. I let them pull me along, and made a note to take the long way to Frazier next time.

 

 

 

"Advanced Anthropology," Lisa read out. We were sitting in line, plunked down on the floor in the corridor, waiting for our turns in the administration offices. I had stretched out my legs but after the fourth person tripped over me, I ended up with my knees under my chin, feeling highly put-upon.

"Naw," Felicia replied. "I haven't taken the pre-reqs."

"Oh, Introduction to Intercultural Conflicts." Lisa peered at the miniscule print. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, one to three. In Center Two."

"I could do that. Code?"

"Five-oh-oh-three-seven-two," Lisa read out. Felicia wrote it down on her slip, counted up her credits, and nodded in satisfaction. Lisa flipped through the booklet. "Life drawing, Mondays, nine to twelve."

"That'll conflict with your Civil Engineering class," I pointed out.

Felicia studied the paper in her hand. "So drop History of Europe... "

"Yeah," Lisa agreed. "Boring."

"You're taking that, too?" I yawned and watched another group of freshman go past, tittering about something.

"And... Two-dimensional Art," Lisa said, nearly bouncing in place. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, two to four."

"Clear," Felicia said, scribbling something on a piece of paper.

"Wait a minute," I said, and grabbed the paper. Scanning it quickly, I held it over my head before Felicia could snatch it back. "This sheet has my name on it!"

"That's right, cat-boy," Lisa said, pulling on a lock of my hair. "We're signing you up for all sorts of great art classes."

"I am not taking art—"

"Cat Winner," the woman at the head of the line called, in a bored voice.

"I'm not in—" The rest of my words were muffled. Felicia grinned at the woman and kept her hand firmly fixed over my mouth.

"Coming," she told the woman, and poked me. "Get up, Cat, this is all for your own good."

I muttered something incoherent that would've been rude if she didn't still have her hand on my mouth, and got to my feet, grabbing my bag. Felicia had to come up on her toes to keep her hand plastered across my lips. She pushed me forward, towards the waiting administrator. Lisa trailed along behind us, still reading the school's list of classes.

"Oh," Lisa cried. "And Introduction to the Abstract. That sounds cool. Monday and Wednesday, one to three. Put that down, Felicia—who needs Psychology 101 anyway?"

 

 

 

We compromised on Introduction to the Abstract, but I held firm to the History of Europe class. I wasn't going to sacrifice all that time to Two-dimensional Art, either. It still meant I had to waste an afternoon in a ridiculously long line to return the books for the psychology class, though. Lola kept me company, and we chatted mostly about her new classes. I told her where I was working, and she expressed surprise, then promised to come visit me on a slow night.

Part of me didn't want her to. How would I explain if Jamie were there, at the same time? I hadn't seen him since that night, and I had no idea what it'd be like when I saw him again, if ever. Truth was, I wanted to forget what I'd almost done, but I knew all too well that would never happen. I just had to live with the guilt.

So I didn't say anything. I merely nodded and changed the subject by kissing her.

  

 

 

Wednesday night, before I left for work, I sat down and listed all the things I wanted. I looked around my apartment, and thought of all the stuff I'd left behind—the kinds of things Lola had, that Jamie had, that I'd missed until now. I hadn't noticed the lack because I'd always been had everything I wanted—except during that one year, and then the only material goods I wanted were more ammo and better replacement parts.

But now... I wanted a stereo. And a more powerful laptop, not the second-rate one I'd gotten on the grounds that college laptops were often stolen. I wanted a small television, and a movie-player. I wanted a two-person couch. And some plants. Wasn't sure I could keep 'em alive but it seemed like something a  _real_  apartment should have. I lined it all up against the income from work, and my stipend from my sister.

Nope. Not gonna happen.

And then there was the question about art. I'd be paying several hundred extra credits for the single art class for lab time, not counting supplies. I didn't know if I wanted to study art in a full course load, but I knew I liked doing it. It was hard. I couldn't get it, half the time, whatever it was. But it was that feeling of something, for once, being just out of my reach, possible not through batting my eyelashes or writing a check but by sheer obstinacy.

I got down my shoebox from the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet. Buried at the bottom was a checkbook, direct access to my trust fund. I stared at it for a long minute, and smiled. It was my inheritance. I had put my life on the line to defend the independence of our family's colony, I had spent two years rebuilding homes and businesses across two colonies and three resource satellites, I had worked for Winner Conglomerate for all but two weeks every year for three years, I had...

I had murdered thousands in the name of peace.

Maybe I didn't deserve the money my father had set aside for me, and the old doubts came tumbling back. I didn't want to deprive myself anymore. A part of me missed having good coffee with breakfast, and a pillow that wasn't lumpy. The allure of living a 'real' life was fading, but what had I really done to deserve the gift from my father's estate? I hadn't lived by his principles. I'd let him die by them, instead.

I sighed, and put the checkbook away. I'd need to live by my own principles. I stared at the shoebox, sitting innocently on the countertop, and lifted the lid again. The checkbook was lying there, waiting.

What were my principles, anyway? Wasn't one of my principles to go for what I wanted, no holds barred? Wouldn't this count? Or was it only okay to go after what you wanted, if what you wanted meant something? At what point did was it big enough to warrant the cost?

I had to laugh at that—wasn't that pretty much the question of my entire existence, wrapped up in the stupid question of whether or not I should get some extra cash to buy a stereo and a houseplant? War is big enough to justify murder, destruction: the big things. Maybe life itself is big enough to justify the little things.

Still a trifle nervous, I opened the book and wrote out a check to myself. Tucking it into my pocket, I grabbed my coat and left early for work.

I caught the bank just before it closed, and nearly laughed when the bank teller's eyes went wide. It was hardly a neighborhood where a transfer of ten thousand credits was a regular occurrence, but I wasn't planning on doing it again for another six or seven months. I only needed to go shopping once, and I could get art supplies, too.

I was rather looking forward to it.

I spent most of the evening checking ID and stamping hands. A good part of my mind was busy reveling in the thought of what I'd buy. All my life, I'd been able to buy what I wanted—or, for one year, it was provided thanks to the Maganacs—but never had I approached the idea with such joy. I made a list, crossed some things off, added others, and suspected the anticipation was probably going to be more fun than the actual purchase.

"Man, you get laid before work or something?" John handed back ID to someone, stamped their hand, and glanced at me, amused.

"No... hunh?" I blinked, my mind catching up with his words. "Uh... just thinking about stuff."

"Do it on your own time, then," John said, but grinned. "Fred's on the warpath. College students are back, and there's sure to be fights."

"Always are," a familiar voice agreed. I looked up to see Jamie looking at me with a smile. When I didn't say anything, his gaze slid past me to grin at John. They shook hands, and Jamie headed on through the doors into the club, joking with some of his friends.

"Cat?" John frowned at me, and I blinked again, focusing on his face. "You okay? You look kinda... weird."

"Weird," I said, and shook my head. Another coughing fit hit me, and it was several seconds before I could get my voice back. "No... " I was saved from any excuses when another group came through the doors, presenting their tickets.

When I got a break from the front doors, I was sent around on clean up duty, and made my way through the crowd, collecting bottles from tables and throwing plastic cups in the trash. The voices advanced and receded, but I was attuned to a single voice, a man a few inches taller than me, with jet-black hair and piercing gray eyes. I had knots in my stomach, thinking about what I'd say. What could I say? I got drunk, forgot I was already sleeping with someone, and...

I had no idea where I'd even start. If he called me an asshole, I'd have to say I was guilty as charged. Put it on my tab, along with everything else I've done.

I took a quick break for the bathroom, locking myself into one of the stalls. I leaned against the door and tried to get my heart to calm down to a reasonable level. I liked him. He was a cool guy, and I could relate to him in a way I couldn't to everyone else around me. I was attracted to him. I had to admit that. But I didn't want —  _shouldn't_  want—to touch him. I was with Lola. I'd had sex with Lola the day before. It was good. She talked too much afterwards, but I was learning to tune that out. It was fine. It was enough. I did not run my tongue down her sternum and think about the softness of her skin compared to hard muscles. I did not ache for a fierce touch on my cock when her gentle fingertips were pleasure enough. I did not...

My hand in my mouth to stifle a groan, I closed my eyes. Unbidden, I could see Trowa sleeping in my bed, his hand flung out towards me, and I had to swallow hard to keep my eyes from watering. I dropped my hand, feeling my chest tighten and convulse, and pushed myself out of the stall. It'd been long enough, and I needed to get back to work.

A coughing spasm hit me and I leaned against the stall door, doubling over as the wracking shook my body. I straightened up, coughing few more times, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The coughing always seemed worse after an hour or two at the club, but I figured the smoky atmosphere was just making the cold linger. I sighed, coughed a few more times, and opened my eyes to see a plastic cup full of water in front of my face.

I stared at the hand holding the cup. My gaze moved from there to the black leather sleeve, up to the shoulder, to Jamie's face.

"Drink," he said, and gave me a smile. "That cough sounds really bad."

"It's nothing," I said, a bit hoarsely.

"Tea would be better, but water might help soothe your throat."

I stared at the cup, warily. He was being kind to me, and I knew I didn't deserve it, but what should I say? After a moment's hesitation I took it, sipping slowly. When I'd half-finished the cup, I handed it back to him.

"You're welcome," he said, and I frowned at him, not sure what he meant. Jamie shrugged. He emptied the cup in one of the sinks, and tossed it in the trash. "You don't have to say anything," he told me, slanting a look sideways as he passed me. "But I'll still say you're welcome."


	7. Chapter 7

I learned three things very quickly as the semester began and I settled into the first week's routine. One, working until three or four in the morning and then being awake for classes is damned hard sometimes. Two, I sucked at abstracts because I kept trying to actually draw something. Apparently this was not the point of abstracts. Three, Trowa is not truly scary. I am not even remotely scary.

 _Nurses_ are scary _._

Thursday afternoon, second week of classes, the professor for Introduction to the Abstract was coming down the hallway as I was about to head into the classroom. I had had to stop as another coughing fit hit me, and when I opened my eyes, it was to see Professor Zimms practically right under my nose. She was a petite, dark-haired woman, but I still wasn't expecting to find her peering up at me through her little round glasses. I started backwards and nearly started coughing again.

"Winner," she said very slowly and carefully, like she thought I was either deaf or stupid. "You have a  _very... bad_... cough."

"It's a cold," I told her.

She snorted. "And I'm an alligator. You are not going in my classroom with those lungs."

I gaped. "Professor—"

"No!" Professor Zimm put her hands on her hips and sniffed at me. The move reminded me of a miniature Wufei, and I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from smiling. Professor Zimm definitely looked like she meant business. "You, kid, have something far worse than a cold. Get your butt to the clinic and don't come back until they've signed a little piece of paper that says you have good drugs and won't make me or anyone else sick."

"Professor—" I can't miss class, I can't miss work, and—I blinked. She'd moved to block the doorway, but she didn't look mad. She looked like she understood, actually, and I sighed, giving in. "Yes, ma'am. Uh—where is the clinic?"

"If you were my kid, I'd smack you upside the head," she informed me. "Collins Building, basement. Past Center One."

"Oh. Thanks." I coughed again, feeling my face flush when she pointed down the hallway and mouthed the words, 'move your  _ass_.' I'm not sure she realized I could read her lips, but figured it wasn't the time to admit that skill. Nodding meekly, I shouldered my bag and trudged off.

Fifteen minutes later—with two stops for more coughing—I found Collins and headed to the basement. At the end of the hall, the waiting room was empty except for one girl behind the counter. It was a cheerfully lit area, that is, if you were a college student who had never been exposed to a certain limousine. As it was, it didn't make me feel cheerful. Instead, I felt suddenly like I was on the shores of the Atlantic again, waiting for impending doom.

The school had, in its infinite  _something_ , painted every wall in the clinic waiting room a muted shade of pink. Perhaps they thought it was calming. It made me want to run shrieking in terror. Been there, done that; and of the strongly held opinion as a result that so much pink in one place should be illegal. Hell, even Relena never would've gone so far as to paint every wall the same Pepto-Bismol color. The only thing worse would've been if they'd painted every vertical surface warning-sign yellow.

The thought of Dorothy's decorating preferences made me gag involuntarily, which naturally made me cough. The girl behind the counter raised her head at the sound.

"Here to see one of the nurses?" She waved me over. "Can I see your student ID?"

I was about to tell her she could, but she might not, and decided she probably wouldn't get it. I dug out my wallet and handed her my student ID. She stared at it, then at me, then flipped it over and back again, setting it down by the computer to type something in.

"Do you have your medical card?"

"My what?" I shook my head, which prompted more coughing. "I don't think so. Was that something the school was supposed to send me?"

"You have to sign up for medical services," she explained, hands paused over the keyboard. Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she looked back and forth between the computer screen, my ID card, and me. "Major medical is part of tuition, but clinic visits aren't."

"Oh, okay," I said, confused. "So what do I need to do?"

She pulled out a clipboard and slapped a pen on top of that. "Fill out this form, and then we need this—" She handed me a half-sheet of green paper, with a bunch of check boxes on it "—and your immunization card—" The girl paused, her eyebrow raised skeptically. "You do have an immunization card, right?"

"A... what?" I gave her a blank stare.

"Then fill this out, too," she said, handing me a third sheet of paper. "You can sit over there."

"Wait," I said, coughed a few times, and cleared my throat. "I thought I sent all that stuff to the school when I registered for classes."

"You did," she said, rolling her eyes in a bored fashion. "Or else you wouldn't have been allowed into classes."

"Well... " It seemed rather obvious to me, but maybe I was missing something. "Why don't you have that information already?"

"Because that's in the Registrar's system, and we're the clinic," she said, as though this explained everything.

"Why not get it from their system, then?"

She gave me a look like I was beyond stupid, and sighed heavily. "That's the [i]Registrar's system. This is the  _clinic_."

"Yes, but—" One look at her annoyed expression, and I decided to back down. I needed to sit, anyway, so I collected the pen and the clipboard and the various sheets of obscure information requirements and retreated to a corner of the clinic.

First name. Oh, fuck, get the hardest ones first. After pondering for a second, I put down Cat. That's what my student ID said, after all. The rest of the information was pretty straightforward. Student ID. 879-0098-4323-80. Date of birth. April 24 AC 180. Sex. Male. Marital status. Single. Age. 19. Height. Six feet. Weight. 175. Current address... permanent address. Would that be my father's home on L4? Or the home I'd used in Sanq when I was dirtside, for most of the past three years? I got up and headed back to the desk, clipboard in hand.

"Excuse me... permanent address?" I chewed my lower lip and gave her my most innocent smile. "Can I just use the one I'm living at?"

"Use the one that gets the bills. Your parents' address," she said, and turned back to the computer.

"Oh." I nodded, like this made sense, and slowly made my way back to my seat. After some consideration, I put down my own address. The next few questions were easy. Year. Sophomore. Expected graduation date. AC 201.

The next section made me squint and rub my eyes, it was printed so tiny. I had to lift the clipboard almost to my nose, trying to read the imprint. As far as I could tell, it was a promise to pay should the patient not pay for the treatment. The signature was for a parent or legal guardian. I skipped that section, started to read the second, got caught in another coughing fit that made me clutch the chair handle and see stars, and gave up. When I got my breath back, I just signed every spot that said 'student' or 'patient'.

There was a second page, and I rubbed my eyes a few more times before starting at the top with a deep sigh. Date of injury. I twiddled my pen over that for a second, before picking the first day of the semester. I'd had it before then, but another cough made me decide to move along. Was condition related to employment? No, I wrote, not sure what kind of employment the form meant—working for the school, or just in general. One glance at the girl behind the counter, reading some fashion magazine, and I decided it wasn't important. Does patient have other health insurance? No, I wrote. I wasn't sure, actually; I'd never thought to ask. The few times I'd had any injuries since the war—and all very minor—a doctor had come to see me. I'd never been in a doctor's office before in my life.

Quatre, I told myself, you really are na—ve, aren't you. Everyone else has this shit figured out and you...

Insurance company name and address. Not applicable. Referring physician. I pondered putting down 'Professor Zimm' but doubted the girl behind the counter had a sense of humor. Instead, I put down 'not applicable.' Current medications. None.

There were a number of questions about my employment, and I skipped those, not really sure what that had to do with the fact that I had a damn cough. I set down the green sheet on the clipboard, raised my pen, and froze.

Have you ever used intravenous drugs? I checked the 'no' box.

Have you ever received clotting factor concentrates? There wasn't an option for 'I don't know.' I pondered for a moment, and checked no.

Have you ever been diagnosed with babesiosis or Chagas disease? I didn't think so. I checked no.

Do you have risk factors for vCJD? I had no clue what that was. I checked no.

Have you had two or more sexual partners in the past year? My pen hovered over yes, until I figured making out with Jamie didn't count. I checked no.

Have you had unprotected sex? Again, I hesitated, then checked no. I really couldn't see what this had to do with my cough. Aggravated at the next few questions—all asking whether I, as a man, had been with another man before, during or after using various chemical substances—I folded up the paper and tucked it in my back pocket. I didn—t see that any of it was any of their business.

The final sheet stopped me cold: immunizations, allergies, exposures to illnesses and certain antibodies. I had no idea, and I knew Doctor O had been thorough, but it wasn't like he gave me a list when he gave me shots or pills. I trusted him. That had been good enough. Sighing, I chewed on the end of the pen, then checked every single box. Satisfied, I collected it all, gave it to the girl at the counter who took it without a word, and returned to my seat to wait to be called.

"Excuse me," the girl said, after a brief silence. "I need to see your student ID again."

I got up, digging it out, and she studied it carefully, even holding it up next to the computer screen. She handed it back to me with a tight smile.

"You're not in the system," she told me, as though this were my fault. "You must not have filled out the correct paperwork. Cat R. Winner isn't listed. Are you sure this is the name you used to register?"

"It's... " I got a sinking feeling suddenly, and had to breathe through my nose to stop another coughing fit. "No, it's not."

"And your real name?" Her fingers were poised over the keyboard, her eyebrows raised.

"Quatre."

"Qua... Q-U-A-T-R-E?" She typed quickly, hitting enter, then her fingers halted in mid-type. "Quatre... Quatre  _Raberba_  Winner?" Her eyes went a little wide.

"Yes," I said, keeping the slight smile on my face by sheer willpower. Please, fuck, don't say anything.

"As in... " Her fingers landed on the keyboard with a clatter, and she jumped, laughing nervously. "That's a joke, right?"

Fuck, I thought. She had to say something.

"No, it's not a joke," I admitted.

The girl gave me a stunned look, then stared down at the computer screen. Her eyes went completely wide and her jaw dropped. "Oh, my  _god_ ," she breathed.

"No, not really," I quipped, feeling utterly miserable. "Look, do you mind if we just keep this between ourselves? I rather like being at school and not... " I waved a hand, vaguely. "Y'know... "

"Right," she said, recovering quickly. She gave me a sly smile. "We protect patient anonymity, here, of course." The girl picked up the phone, spoke to someone quickly on the other end, and I caught my last name. She set down the phone and gave me a brilliant smile. "Someone will be with you shortly... Mister Winner."

"Oh. Thanks." I kept the smile on my face, wondering if she could tell my teeth were gritted. Great. One stinking bimbo at the clinic and now... but maybe not... maybe she really wouldn't say anything, and would consider it her little secret. I tried to console myself with that thought, and wondered if this meant she'd go out of her way to say hello to me on campus. I figured if she were going to, the least I could do was catch the worst now. "Hey, and call me Cat." I brightened up the smile a few notches, and I think she practically melted.

"Okay... Cat," she said. I didn't know someone could smile that wide.

And I didn't realize how miserable I could feel, either, just to have someone know my real name.

 

 

 

"Mister Winner," Nurse Jackson said, in a stern tone. She flipped through several papers, and made a frustrated sound under her breath. The cords on her reading glasses swayed as she moved. "There's no blood risk assessment sheet with your paperwork."

"Which one was that?" Not the green one, not the green one...

"The green one. We'll need that if you're going to donate blood."

"I'm not here to donate blood," I said, and shifted on the examination bed. It was bad enough to have to strip down for a damn cold, but humiliating to follow that up with this interrogation by a woman forty years my senior. She was my height only by virtue of what I guessed to be about six inches of teased and frosted hair, which appeared to be tinted a light blue. Or perhaps that was just the lights in the basement... I shifted again, and the paper gown rustled against the paper on the bed. A draft hit my backside. "I'm here about a cold."

"I see." Jackson pursed her lips, regarding the paperwork carefully. "Next time, you fill that out," she barked, setting the paperwork aside. "Now, you say you have a cold."

"Yes, ma'am," I told her, and smiled innocently. Just then a cough pushed its way up through my chest and I bent over, shaking as the cough tore through my lungs. A long minute later, I managed caught my breath to see her eyes watching me, narrowed to thin beacons.

"That would be the cold," she said, flatly. Without warning, she stepped around behind me and slapped a freezing metal plate against my back. "Deep breath."

"Yes, ma'am." I tried, and immediately started coughing. The stethoscope was moved several more times, and each time, I did more coughing than deep breathing.

"And you've had this  _cold_... " She stepped away from me, and flipped the papers again. "Three weeks."

"Yes, ma'am." I was starting to think the infamous neon sign had changed to say, 'Please. Treat me like I'm four.'

"And it's been getting worse?"

I shrugged. I really wasn't sure.

"And it's been getting worse?" She put a hand on her hip, and her orange-red lips were pressed into a tight line.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, shrinking back just a little.

"Have you seen anyone else about this?"

"No, ma'am," I answered automatically. If she threatened to make me stand in the corner or sent me to bed without supper, I probably would have gratefully accepted the punishment just to get out from under her glare. Heero, I thought ruefully, come visit me at school and I'll introduce you to the head nurse. You'll have met your match... I realized she was saying something, and gave her a confused look.

" ...Ingested or drunk in the past twenty-four hours?"

"Pardon?" It came back to me, and I stuttered a bit, embarrassed, though I wasn't sure why. "I had three beers last night. And... some noodles for dinner. I had a coffee and Danish for breakfast, and half-a-sandwich for lunch."

"Mm." She took my arm, patting the inside of my elbow, and slapped a rubber strip around my upper arm. A ball was slapped in my hand. "I'm taking blood for tests. Squeeze."

"What... " I winced. She wasn't gentle with the needle, nor had she picked the smallest size. "Kind of tests... ma'am?"

"Bronchitis, pneumonia, mononucleosis, FG-2 and FG-3." She unsnapped the blood vial, put a label on it, then attached a second to the needle and began withdrawing more blood. "Keep squeezing, regular intervals. Now, stop."

I knew the first three were illnesses. "What's FG-2 and FG-3?" I recognized the terms, but couldn't place them.

"Sexually transmitted diseases," Jackson answered, and undid the rubber cord. It snapped against my arm, and I flinched. "Predominantly found in the poorer colonies, but cases have been reported in urban areas on Earth, and we've begun testing all students." She took a pair of scissors and before I realized it, she'd snipped a quarter-inch of hair. It fell into a waiting vial, and she capped it as well.

"What was that for?" I found my indignation long enough to sit up straight.

"Standard procedures,  _Mister_  Winner."

I shrank back down under that glare. "Oh." I held the gauze against my elbow, and tried to look innocent.

"Stay there," she said, and pinned me to the table with a look. "Don't move. I'll be back with the results in ten minutes."

The door shut behind her, and I resisted the urge to freeze and do just as she said: not moving a muscle. Damn, if Oz had had interrogators with half her intimidation skills, we Gundam pilots wouldn't have stood a chance.

 

 

 

When Nurse Jackson returned nearly twenty minutes later, she ushered in two more men. One was a police officer; he gave me an annoyed once-over and took up position by the door. The second was an older man in a suit. He didn't look like he was quite dressed for working a clinic. His thinning brown hair was brushed sideways over his head, and his skin gleamed under the artificial lights. I wondered if this was what Duo meant when he had confessed nightmares about dealing with interrogators in brightly lit rooms where he always felt so small and insignificant compared to their uniforms. I tried not to think about it.

"Mister Winner," the man intoned. He stood between me and the door, his hands clasped behind his back, and he rocked on his heels. "I'm Dr. Bilar, Dean of Student Affairs. We have some questions to ask you."

"About my cough?" Just then I was hit with another coughing fit, and my eyes watered from the force of it. I gave him a weak smile, and he had the decency to smile back.

"No," he admitted. "But the nurse will have your prescription ready... after we're done talking."

I nodded, bracing myself. "What's the question?"

"The spectropathometer test found... " He dug a sheet out of his pocket, and read it off in a slow, foreboding voice. " ...Torocaine, Zopital, Roruval, MSD3-A  _and_  MSD3-B, Kopavaine, Lurometaphin, SDE-75, Gavleroin, Argenal, and Asptametamine, among traces of others the system could not fully identify."

I knew some of those names, from news reports. They were among the most addictive and expensive black market drugs available dirtside. Torocaine was a stimulant, I was pretty sure; I'd had a variant of it when undergoing training. Lurometaphin was a barbiturate, and Zopital was most hospitals' last-resort painkiller as well as a black market favorite. I'd used those during the war, as had all the other pilots. It was often the only thing we could get.

Dean Bilar hand the paper to Nurse Jackson, and frowned at me. "You've been quite busy, haven't you?"

I couldn't find my voice. My mind reeled, and I tried to consider the situation carefully, see it from his angle and mine, and dredge up any defense I could manage. "What were the levels?"

"Levels?" He narrowed his eyes at me. "That's irrelevant. The fact is, these are controlled substances that should not—"

"Give me the levels," I demanded, adding as an afterthought, "sir."

He paused, then glanced at Nurse Jackson. "Below a half-percent," she said.

"Is that a substantial amount?" I was more than irritated, but mostly at Doctor O. I had no warning, and now I was going to have 'drug user' stamped on my forehead.

"Not significantly so, as I understand," he allowed, "but it indicates that at some point in the past five years you've ingested considerable amounts, or smaller amounts in the past six months." He snorted. "Either way, this raises questions about the prudence of allowing you to continue as a student here."

"Sir," I said, and took a deep breath, stifling another cough. For a moment, I pushed away the fact that I was wearing a paper gown that opened in the back, and put on my battle face. "The medications are related to situations that occurred during the war. I'm afraid you don't have high enough clearance for me to divulge any information to you."

The nurse twitched, and I steadfastly ignored her. I didn't need to slouch now, and I suspected I might if I let her zoom in on me again with that high-powered glare. The policeman had come upright, his eyes on me again, assessing me as carefully as one would measure up any suspect. The Dean, however, had frozen, his eyes wide.

"Mister Winner," he said, quietly. "I don't think that's going to be good enough."

"We have two choices," I replied, keeping my voice low and even. I didn't want to be too confrontational, but now wasn't the time for sweet smiles, either. The last thing they'd believe at this point was that I was innocent. It was just a matter of which crime they'd find me guilty. "Either you can allow me to a phone so I can contact the Executive Director of the Preventers, or we can find a compromise that will satisfy us both...  _and_  keep the university from falling under scrutiny for testing students without their permission."

"The Executive Director?" Dean Bilar snorted. "Don't joke. First, it's three in the morning in Europe, and second—"

"That's fine," I answered. "I have her home phone number."

"You... "

"And if that's not enough to convince you that this is an issue for which you don't have clearance—and an issue which I recommend you forget the moment you leave this room—then I have no problem following through." I kept my hands relaxed, my voice just a little bored, as though I made threats like this everyday. Fact was, the only home number I could suddenly remember was Wufei's, my brain was spinning so fast. But I had to keep up appearances. "Bring me a phone."

Dean Bilar pursed his lips, much like Nurse Jackson had, but remained silent, pondering.

"Special Ops," the policeman muttered, breaking the standoff. He looked me up and down again. "I heard the Alliance used high school students from its Academies, training them young. Rich brats. Lots of them went over to Oz," and he said the branch's title like it was something obscene.

I didn't grace him with an answer. Let them find their own means of categorizing and explaining the drugs still in my body. Anything was preferable to letting them figure out I was a Gundam pilot. The police officer could have accused me of personally fertilizing Khushrenada's rose garden during the war, and it'd still be better than being labeled one of history's five worst terrorists—or five top heroes. I wasn't interested in either label.

"Rumors," Bilar murmured to the police officer, but then seemed to come to a decision. "Fine. I'm going to consider you on probation, young man. Your blood tests revealed no drugs present other than traces of alcohol, but most drugs will be out of the blood stream within thirty days. For the next six months, you will come to the clinic on the first Monday of the month, and have a blood test. As long as none of these drugs show up again, then and only then will you be allowed to remain. If, however, your tests are positive... " He left it hanging.

"Agreed," I told him, hoping I conveyed reasonably well with the right tone and attitude that this was acceptable without letting on how relieved I was. We'd reached a compromise. Not one that thrilled me, but anything beat having to call Une and ask her for the equivalent of a note from my mother, along with sufficient pressure to keep things quiet.

Besides, I'd sooner serenade Nurse Jackson under her bathroom window than call Une at three in the morning. I had  _some_  sense of self-preservation. I hadn't survived two wars just to die at Une's hands at nineteen.

 

 

 

Bed rest for two weeks; bronchitis developing into preliminary pneumonia. Nurse Jackson lectured me on all the myriad medications. I dutifully nodded at appropriate points, promising to return in three days for another test to make sure the medications were working. Straight to bed, no dilly-dallying, she told me, and with that laser-beam glare on my now-dressed backside, I managed to leave the clinic at the fastest possible casual stroll ever seen in that part of the hemisphere. The girl at the desk cheerfully waved to me, and I threw her a quick smile as though it was all perfectly cool.

Outside I downed the first round of pills, dry, and grumbled to myself all the way home. The clinic automatically notified all professors of my banishment from classes for at least three days. For a system that couldn't get my immunization records from the Registrar, they sure could work fast when it came to kicking me out of classes.

I spent that evening eating macaroni and cheese and reading through my economics notes. My Philosophy 101 course was going to be hard to catch up, if I didn't get back to classes within a week. That professor seemed insistent on cramming four thousand years of philosophy into sixteen weeks. And then there were the projects and studio time I'd be missing.

I called into work, explained the situation, and went to bed early.

When I woke up, it was nearly ten in the morning. For a minute I was about to jump up and run to class, but then I remembered. I got up long enough to take the next set of pills, grimaced at the taste of water from the tap, and went back to bed.

At dusk, someone rapped on the door. Before I could get up, I heard Lola's voice.

"Hey, Cat," she called. "No need to pounce, just open up. I brought you dinner."

"What?" I opened the door, and ran a hand through my hair, feeling abashed, and a little sticky after almost a day of coughing, drinking disgusting tap water, and laying about doing essentially nothing. "You didn't have to," I said, but she pushed past me, a plastic-covered bowl in her hands.

"I just have to heat it," she replied. She set it on the counter, rolled up her sleeves, tucked her hair behind her ears, and began washing my lone pot. Lola looked at me, still by the door. "Get back in bed."

"Getting, getting," I told her, but I was feeling shaky from standing up for several minutes. Thankfully I crawled back into bed, and she pulled the blanket over me. I scowled, and swatted at her hand. "I'm not a child."

"No, you're just an idiot," she admonished. "I stopped by your work yesterday. Bronchitis and pneumonia, Cat! That's serious."

"Apparently so." Another coughing fit hit me, and she knelt by the bed, worried lines on her face. I waved her away. "It's not as bad as it was."

"What do you have to drink? You should be drinking grapefruit juice," she said. I groaned and rolled over on my stomach, pulling the pillow over my head. Not my favorite drink. "There's nothing in your fridge but beer and... more beer," I heard her saying. "I'm going to set the timer. When it goes off, serve yourself. Where's your wallet?"

"My... " I registered her words and was up in a heartbeat, across the room, my hand on my backpack. "What do you need my wallet for?"

Lola blinked at the backpack that had been in her hand only a second before, then slowly frowned at me, baffled. "I'm going shopping for you. You need chamomile tea, and some honey, grapefruit juice, and soup... "

"No grapefruit juice," I said. I pulled out my wallet, and handed her all the credits I had. Then I shut the wallet and put it away before she saw my full ID, and the emergency credit card. The girl in the clinic knowing the truth was one person enough for me. Recalling the clinic made me annoyed again, and I sighed, sensing distantly that Lola's bewilderment was turning to hurt. "I don't like grapefruit juice," and I sulked a little, knowing it'd distract her.

"You're cute when you pout," Lola said, and kissed me on the cheek. She pulled on her coat, and picked up my keys. "Orange juice, then?"

"Fine," I grumbled, and returned to bed.

"Don't forget to turn off the stove when you hear the timer," she instructed, letting herself out. I mumbled something into the pillow and fell back asleep as soon as I heard the door locking behind her.

  

 

  

Between the pills, Lola's soup—better by far than anything Catherine had ever served—and sheer boredom, I managed to test with low enough levels three days later to be allowed back to classes. Nurse Jackson gave me the mother of all glares, as though she suspected I'd somehow switched my blood with someone else's between the needle and the testing machine. I smiled, and she raised an eyebrow. That was our understanding. I was going to play the innocent, and she was going to remain convinced I was guilty.

Monday night I was back on schedule at work, and taking more than a bit of ribbing about coughing up a lung or three for the previous two weeks. Fred put me on rotation and back-door duty, both of which kept me out of the majority of the smoky crowd areas. I lugged buckets of ice back and forth between the two bars, and even the smallest cough got a look from the other doormen. No one suggested I go home, but a few looks seemed to convey that I was insane for being back at work already.

Well, it beat staying home and having to deal with Lola or Felicia showing up. I liked them both, and the company was good, but having them in my space had been nerve-wracking at times. It wasn't just the art on the walls, although I'd taken down the pictures of my friends from the war. It was the fact that my legal name was on every bottle of pills.

"Cat," Del hollered, breaking me out of my thoughts. I'd been pondering ways to thank Lola and Felicia for visiting me so regularly, but at the same time be ablet to make it clear they could stop. Hopefully the sooner, the better.

"Coming," I yelled back, leaving John by the backstage entrance and heading down to the loading docks. "Whaddaya need?"

"Extra hand on the Marshall stacks," Del said. "Get that end?"

The damn things were nearly as tall as me, and the band had four, to be stacked in sets of two. Headliners and their egos, I thought grimly, yelling warnings to Del as he walked backwards into the club. Two of the bands' roadies were standing nearby, almost done unloading the band's personal soundboard, which had been stored in the truck while the opening bands were onstage.

We set the speaker down near the back of the stage, where the roadies and stagehands would set it up during the break between bands. Del clapped me on the shoulder as we headed to the truck to check on the unloading.

"Thanks, Cat," he said. "John's back is still funky."

"I heard that," John called. He grinned lazily, and pretended to stoop.

"Cat," one of the roadies said, and I turned towards the voice. The guy was my height, stockier than me, with a bright shock of hair that alternated stripes of green and red. He looked like someone had glued a holiday ornament on top of Leo. The guy grinned, showing too many teeth. "That a nickname, or your parents just have a weird sense of humor?"

"Nickname," I said, on my guard, but not sure why.

"What's it short for?" The second roadie lit a cigarette, shaking the match a few times, even though it'd gone out on the first shake. The bar's noise was muted out on the loading dock, but his face was squeezed up like he was having trouble hearing and was forced to read lips. "What the hell kinda name would be shortened to Cat?"

"It's not short for anything." I glanced at Del, who was standing by the last Marshall stack.

"Gotta be some reason you got it," Squint-face said.

"Maybe he needs to cut his nails," Holiday Ball suggested.

"Maybe you two should shut up and get out of our way," Del told them. We lifted the stack on the silent count of three, and carried it past the two roadies. They just grinned and made no move to help.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," Squint-face called. He was behind me. I saw Del roll his eyes, and I shrugged.

We left the speaker by the stage, and I made another few rounds to clean up tables, carry kegs, and refresh the soda dispensers. The headlining band went onstage, and the two roadies were soon ensconced by the back bar. After three trips past them to the tune of 'kitty, kitty, kitty,' I traded with John and took up residence by the backstage. I was cranky, tired, and fast losing my temper.

At the end of the night, Del handed me a broom and we began sweeping up the cigarette butts and various matters of trash. The best part was finding dropped money; whomever found it got to keep it. I had twenty credits by the time Del found his first. He was joking again that I had a gift for finding money—a joke I'd learned to let roll—when the roadies finished loading up their truck and returned for a last drink with the band.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," Squint-face called, walking past me.

I glanced at Del, who nodded once, and grinned. Returning the wolfish look, I dropped the broom and spun, catching Squint-face by the throat. I shoved him three steps backwards and slammed him up against the wall. He made a squeaking sound, his hands around my wrist, and I tightened my grasp.

"You really want to know why I'm called Cat?" I growled, pulled him forward, and slammed him against the wall again. His eyes were open wide, for once, and he made an incoherent sound. One of his fists came out. I blocked it easily.

Del's broom hit the bar, and he took a step towards us. I tensed. Fuck, Del, what do you think you're gonna do? I slammed Squint-eyes against the wall a third time, and Del's footsteps stopped. I dropped my hand and stepped back, arms relaxed, hands open at my side. Squint-face rubbed his neck, glaring at me as though he were the injured party.

"Fuckin hell, man, I was just joking," Squint-face spat.

"What, you think I'm not?" I chuckled low in my throat and threw a punch. I pulled it at the last second, and kept it there, right at the end of his nose.

Squint-face was pressed up against the wall. His eyes were crossing, trying to keep my fist in his line of sight. "I don't think I wanna fight you, man."

I dropped my fist and stepped back. "Go on, then."

Squint-face blinked at the cheerful tone. He looked past me to Del, then at Melissa, who was wiping down the bar. With a last look in my direction, Squint-face scurried towards the back door and down the steps to the loading dock.

"Fuck, man," Del breathed, and picked up his broom, pushing idly at a pile of trash. His voice was quiet, and a bit reverent, or possibly worried. "So... where does the name come from?"

"Hell if I know," I told him. "Ask the person who gave it to me."

"Blows my theory," Melissa called from behind the bar. "I had my money riding on the theory that it's from an obsession with bringing his lovers dead things as gifts."

I flashed suddenly on the light-hearted post-battle competitions I'd had with Trowa on our kill rates, and felt ill. I wondered what he was doing right then, if he was with Duo, and if they... I pushed it out of my head, and shrugged, picking up my broom.

"I never bathe and tell," I told her.

 

 

 

I left the club that night with an empty smile pasted on my face, waving to the others as I strolled off down the street. I didn't want a ride, even if the freezing night air wasn't the best for my lungs. I wanted to walk it off, and come home exhausted enough to sleep instead of staying awake for an hour, wired. Lola had hinted that if I came by, she'd be happy to see me, but my footsteps carried me past her place without stopping. I paid the street signs no mind, my hands shoved in my pocket as I walked and thought.

The small fight had my blood up, but I was equally edgy about the fact that Del had been about to join in. Fact was, I didn't trust his skills more than I did any of the staff's. They just weren't up to the standards I needed to be able to fight without worrying about them. There had only been three or four brawls since I'd started working—which was apparently average—and I'd found myself protective of the staff. But they didn't need to know that, and I didn't plan on letting them.

It was a lonely, isolating feeling.

I wondered if Duo and Trowa were together yet, and how they were doing. I hadn't heard from Heero or Wufei. I thought of Relena, and wondered what she was up to. I made a note to drop Iria a line and find out about her plans to be in town in a month or two. Rashid had kept the radio silence I'd implied I wanted, but I thought I might call him or write and let him know I was okay.

The sidewalk rolled away under my gait, and I didn't pay much attention to what was around me. I was restless, but I couldn't figure out why.

"College boy," someone hissed.

I looked up in time to see a fist flying towards me. I dodged, and the fist clipped me on the cheek. I came back up again, and returned the blow into the man's chest. He grunted and slumped. Something hard slammed against my lower back. I feinted away, stumbling as I pulled to the left and kicked low. I caught the second man by the knee, and kicked again. My forearm blocked a second blow the baseball bat, or nightstick. Something slammed into the back of my head. I turned as I fell forward, moving instinctively and coming back around with the momentum. My punch connected, and the third man went down.

"Bastard," the short man muttered. He was dressed in black leather, his jacket open to reveal an advertisement for a local pachinko parlor.

"Are we done?" My hands were raised a little, ready to play at peace or defend, depending on his move. "If you want money, pick someone who's got some."

"Holy shit... " Pachinko's eyes went wide, and he cackled suddenly. "You're that guy!"

He glanced behind me, still grinning, and I knew what that meant. I immediately dropped to my knees. The baseball bat whistled over my head, and I came up under it, grabbing the second man's arm and slinging him over my shoulder. Halfway through the move, I was hit in the kidneys by the third man. I dropped the second guy and went down as well. My knee crunched on the sidewalk, and I grit my teeth past the pain. Another fist came at me. I ducked, tangling in the body of the second man. Hands on the freezing cement, I swept a leg, knocking the third man to the ground.

I stood, a little unsteadily, my hand on my side. The throbbing was intense, and I had to breathe through my nose to keep from passing out. Pachinko was watching, eyes wide, and backed away slowly.

"I heard... " He shook his head, and backed up another step as I approached him. The other two men were staying down, but groaning quietly. I stepped on one's hand, grinding it under my boot, and he cried out.

"Mikey said you took his gun," Pachinko said. "Figured he was being lazy, but—"

"He was," I snarled, covering the last two feet in time to catch him by the shirt. I shook him, ignoring the wish to fall to the ground and scream in pain. "But  _you_  were being stupid. Don't pick fights with me. You'll lose."

His eyes darted past me, and I tensed. I twisted my hand in his shirt, and pulled him upwards, onto his toes.

"Last chance," I said. "Leave now, and we'll call it even. Stick around, and this will be the last stretch of sidewalk you'll see in this lifetime."

There was scuffling behind me. I didn't move, staring him down. Finally he nodded, very slowly.

"Wiss, Block, it's cool." He laughed nervously. "We're cool... "

I waited until the movements behind me retreated before I stepped back, releasing the man's shirt. He eyed me warily, then nodded to his friends. The three didn't turn their backs on me, gathering up their bats and melting into the dark alleyway, a last wave and nod from the ringleader the only sign the truce had entered effect.

"Fuck," I said to the empty street. I'd been too messy. I'd left miles of openings; Wufei and Heero would probably laugh themselves silly at any replay of my pathetic attempts at self-defense. Hell, I hadn't even had a chance to get at my gun, kept at the back of my jeans, trapped under my long wool coat so neatly buttoned. Stupid. The fight's heat left me in a cold rush of wind; I swayed, prodding gently at my left hip and side through the coat.

I limped halfway to the corner before I had to lean against a shop window. My right cheek felt swollen, and even the chilly wind wasn't going to be enough to keep me from looking horrendous in the morning if I didn't get ice on it soon. I felt exposed on the open street, and I didn't like it one bit. I couldn't let down my guard, but damn if I didn't want to, and badly.

I was a block from Lola's, but she wouldn't understand. She'd probably just fuss and maybe even cry. The chances were pretty much nil that she'd be willing to stay awake with a gun in her hand while I slept. And at that point, I figured a guard might be the only thing that would let me really rest, really recover—not from the fight—but from the loneliness and unease it inspired.

Without even really deciding, I took a left and walked two more blocks, not stopping until I was before a plain wooden door. There was a placard for a familiar band pasted on the door, covering a sprawl of graffiti. I took a deep breath, and pushed the door open, heading into the darkness.

At the top of the stairs a thin line of light crept into the hallway from under the door. There were explosions and yelling coming faintly from somewhere in the apartment. I felt like I was sleepwalking, or moving through water, and watched my hand come up and knock, two quiet but brisk raps. The sounds inside the apartment stopped, and I waited, my hand finding its way back to hold in my bruised side. Locks clicked, and the door opened.

"Who the.." Jamie's voice trailed off in a gasp, then came back with a fury. "Cat, what the fuck happened to you—"

"Is it a bad time," I heard myself saying, as though I'd shown up when he'd been sitting down for tea. I sounded distantly polite. "Sorry." I grimaced, and backed up, second-guessing my impulse. "I should—"

"Get in here," Jamie ordered, catching me by the elbow. "Holy fuck, you look like you just got the shit kicked out of you."

"You should see the other guys," I said.

"That's what everyone says," he retorted. Next thing I knew, I was shoved forward, and he jerked my coat off. I groaned something incoherent when he bumped my side, and next thing I knew I was being pushed into a chair. Jamie left and came back a minute later with an ice pack. "Put this on your face." I held it up, and he prodded the bruise on my other cheek where the first punch had clipped me. I jerked my head away from his fingers, and he caught me by the jaw, tilting my head towards the light by the sofa. "Fuck, Cat, fuck... no, hold still."

"I'll be fine," I told him, through gritted teeth. "Just need... "

"Your waist?" Jamie asked, pulling my arm away from my torso. "Hip?" He lifted my shirt and I recoiled, hissing through my teeth. "All right," he whispered, "I know, just hold on, let me look." He pushed and prodded, gently, and sat back with an exasperated look. "Cat... "

"Sorry," I muttered, dropping the ice pack. He pushed it back against my face, and I cringed. "That—"

"Of course it hurts, you moron," he snapped. "It's a damn bruise. That's what they do."

"I didn't mean—" I bit back the cold response, and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm imposing. I just... I was going to... "

"Walk home looking like that, and scare all the neighborhood junkies?" Jamie stood up, shaking his head.

"Is it... "  _safe to stay here_ , I wanted to ask. I held the ice to my face with shaking fingers. Jamie had been a soldier. I didn't know for whom or what or why, but it was obvious with every efficient spare move he made. I knew, somehow, that I could trust him, but that wasn't enough. I'd spent my whole life surrounded by people who were either paid to protect me, or chose to protect me, or would because they knew I'd do the same for them. I'd never needed to ask. I didn't know how, and I felt stupid for even admitting I wanted to.

"Cat," Jamie said, coming back to stand by me. He knelt down again, looking up at me. His eyes were almost silvery in the apartment's low light. I felt like an asshole, on top of being an idiot who couldn't handle a fight. Jamie pulled the bag of ice away, looked at my cheek, and moved the ice back into place. "No rush, okay? Just chill out a bit. When you're able to walk more than five steps without wanting to fall over, you can go home. Deal?"

"I want to stay," I blurted out.

Jamie blinked, then nodded slowly. He started to stand, and I could feel panic rising. I caught him by the arm. He sighed, but didn't move.

"Cat," he said, gently.

"The other night, I... " I held the ice pack to my face, realized I was hiding behind it, and lowered it. "I didn't mean... it's just that I'm seeing someone and I... " I felt broken, and took a breath, gathering my strength to stand. "I'm sorry. I was... I should—"

"You're in no shape to be wandering the streets," he replied. He stood, and pushed me back down in the chair. "Stay there for a bit. You keep the ice on that bruise, and I'll make up the sofa for you."

He smiled as though he found the whole thing very funny, and was gone for several minutes, moving around in the back part of his apartment. When he returned, he beckoned me to the sofa. I laid down, icepack still against my face, grunting at the pressure on my side from the movement. Jamie pulled off my boots and then unfolded a blanket over me. He leaned down, his face only inches from mine.

"Cat," he whispered. "You are one seriously fucked-up kid, you know that?"

"Yeah," I said, closing my eyes.

"Good," Jamie told me. He leaned forward, and I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead he pressed his lips against my forehead. He pulled away with a grin, and patted me on the cheek. "Sleep well."

"I'm sorry about before," I told him. "I should have—"

"You live your life by  _shoulds_ , I think." Jamie sighed and stood up. He stopped in the doorway, his hand on the light switch. "If it helps you to sleep, I've got weapons, and I know how to use them. No one will get in here. You're safe, now." He didn't wait for a reply, but flipped off the light.

With those words in my ears, I fell asleep almost instantly.


	8. Chapter 8

_He rubs his ear when the phone conference is done. An hour of holding the small cell phone up to his ear while department directors drone on about productivity and personnel reviews, and an hour of watching people trot past, their gazes turned inwards, heading somewhere or on their way home._

_Quatre tucks the phone away, and stretches, letting his long legs take up some of the corridor space. He has a half-hour to his flight window, and he's tempted to stop by a bar and get a drink, but he likes flying too much to dull his senses._

_"Mister Winner?" A young steward hovers at his elbow, a smile plastered on her face. "Your shuttle is being brought around a little early."_

_"Thanks, Claire," Quatre says. "You don't need to escort me, unless you want to get out of something more tedious elsewhere."_

_She grins wryly, looking much closer to her age—maybe twenty-one, perhaps twenty-two—than she had with that business-like look on her face. Claire looks around, nods nervously, and relaxes when Quatre grins down at her. She gestures towards the shuttle gates, and Quatre falls in beside her. The rolling thrum of his suitcase is a steady beat to their casual conversation._

_"Anything exciting happen since my last flight?" Quatre shoves a hand in his pocket, and forces himself to shorten his stride. Claire barely comes up to his shoulder, and she has to trot to keep up if he doesn't slow down._

_"We had a man try to steal a shuttle last week," she whispers, in a conspiratorial tone. Her eyes widen. "Oh, I guess you probably know all about that, though."_

_"Me?" Quatre chuckles. "I don't get all the news. So. Were you around when it happened?"_

_"Yes," she replied, brightening as she begins repeating what's become old gossip in the week since, but she has an avid listener. Before she realizes it, her conversation has segued into the aftermath of a man with a bomb, Preventers, reporters, and general panic. "And then I told Tom that I was fine, but he just completely flipped out about it. I do like him, Mister Winner—"_

_"Quatre," he reminds her, gently, with a wink. "You like him, but... "_

_Claire blushes again, and makes an apologetic motion with her hands. "He's so over-protective. It's like he thinks I can't take care of myself." She huffs, blowing her strawberry-blond bangs out of her eyes. For a second, she looks sixteen, in contrast with her defiant words. "I'm an adult, now."_

_Quatre smiles, understanding completely._

   

 

 

I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee. I managed to sit up with a stifled groan. My head was pounding, and my lower back was definitely feeling the after-effects of being up close and personal with a damn baseball bat.

"Didn't know how you like your coffee," a voice said, and I smiled, rubbing my eyes.

"However you drink it is fine with me," I told him, and then looked up to see someone else entirely grinning at me. "Uh... "

The man was stockier, with Jamie's midnight-black hair, but blue eyes. He hadn't shaved, and he was wearing an old University sweatshirt. "Did you want it?" He held out the coffee cup again, and I took it, still feeling confused. "I'm Ted," the man said, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table. "Jamie's oldest brother." He looked me over and whistled. "Jamie wasn't kidding. You got a number done on you."

"Three guys," I mumbled around the mug. The coffee was strong, and a little bitter, but it hit the back of my throat with a sharp tang. "Wiss, and Block, and the ringleader didn't introduce himself."

"That would be Jack," he told me. "Big guy on this block, I suppose. Little guy in the real scheme of things, but... you took all three on?"

"Wasn't like I went looking for them," I grumbled. "They started it."

"They're not big on college students. Some college boy scared the shit outta Jack's little brother few months ago," Ted told me, and I know I flushed. Ted raised his eyebrows, and I made a point of staring down into my coffee. "No fucking way," he said, and leaned back, laughing. "Well, Jamie said you were a spitfire."

"A... what?" I gave him a puzzled look, then glanced past him. "Where's Jamie?"

"Work." Ted got up, and started straightening up some of the magazines on the end tables. "He didn't leave til I got here, said you shouldn't be left alone." He was casual saying it, but he gave me a sharp glance.

"I... just a rough night, I guess," I said. I took another sip of the coffee, hissing through my teeth. I gave the mug a pointed look. "Well, I'm awake  _now_."

"Jamie's recipe," Ted said. "Got classes, then?"

"Yeah." I threw off the blanket and stood up, gingerly, then looked at the blanket crumpled on the sofa. Leaning over carefully, I dragged it towards me, and began folding it. Jamie had... well, he'd done something and I hadn't even asked, or explained. "I'm in his debt," I told Ted, and I wasn't sure why I said it.

"Never between friends," Ted told me. He took the blanket from me. "I'll fold that. You just get on to classes."

"Thanks." I limped to the table, where my coat was laying over one of the chairs. I checked the gun at the back of my jeans, sliding the holster around to the front, and pulled on my coat. "Do you have paper and a pen?"

"On the countertop," Ted said, over his shoulder. He'd finished folding the blanket and was laying it across the back of the sofa.

I found the paper and pen, and quickly scribbled out a note for Jamie. Call me, I wrote, and put down my phone number. I didn't know what I'd say if he did, but I didn't feel right just leaving.

 

 

 

The days passed, the nights were long, and I started to feel like I was finding my feet. Jamie and I met several times, on my nights off, just out for coffee, about once a week. Sometimes I watched his lips when he talked, but when he'd look my way, I'd be quick to look somewhere else. Most of the time I managed to keep it in my head that he was a friend.

With a wave, he turned around, walking off down the street. I watched him go, but for once, I truly watched him, and tried to see past the random images I'd collected: his laugh, his gray eyes, the way his hair turned brilliant blue-black in the streetlights. He was lanky, with long legs and well-shaped calves, powerful thighs. His shoulders were strong, just right above a barrel chest. His hands, swinging at his sides, were square and powerful, with short fingers that were callused and hard from days of labor.

When I closed my eyes against the midnight breeze and tried to imagine his face, I couldn't. If he was in front of me, I could see him, and that was enough. But when he walked away, I found myself clutching at images, and they ran away from me like rain down the gutters.

 

 

 

Twice I'd gone by the clinic, dutifully given blood, and after a vicious glare from Nurse Jackson had been sent on my way with a clean bill of health. Spring took its time coming to the city, and a few times I'd been worried I was developing another cough, but the accompaniment of a few sneezes and a headache meant it was really a cold, Felicia told me.

Three days after midterms, the rain was coming down in a steady drizzle. I managed to bribe Felicia and Lola into helping me carry a huge art supply purchase for Abstracts back to my apartment. Everything was wrapped up in garbage bags to protect it from the rain, though we were soaked.

Lola shook her head, but her red hair remained plastered to her face. "Someone get this hair out of my face," she fussed, hefting the bag in her arms. "I do it, I'll drop these sketchpads."

Felicia poked Lola in the side of the head, laughed, and wiped Lola's hair back. "Better?"

"Much." Lola glanced over at me, and grinned. "Okay. I've decided. Bruno's."

"Shit, Lola," Felicia looked past Lola at me. "No way. That place is expensive," and she drew out the last word, rolling her eyes.

"Bruno's?" I shrugged. I'd just drawn another two thousand credits from my main account, with plans to purchase a stereo and speakers. I'd also signed up for summer classes, to get some more of my graduation requirements out of the way. I could spare a few hundred credits. It was about time I did something for Felicia and Lola, after all the time they'd put up with me. I grinned slyly, enjoying Lola's stunned reaction. "I'll make a reservation. But you might want to dry off before we go."

"Holy... " Felicia choked, then narrowed her eyes. "Cat... "

"I knew it! He's selling his body on the street!" Lola kicked me in the ankle, and I pretended to limp, for her benefit. She continued to tease me, prying for information in that roundabout way of hers, and we traipsed up the stairs to my apartment, leaving a trail of dirty city water behind us. "I hear it's decent money. Bet you get what, twenty credits a night?"

"At least forty," I informed her and winked. I stuck my key in the top bolt lock. The tumbler didn't click. It wasn't locked. Pulling back, I stepped away from the door, and set down my bags. "You two," I said, in a soft, stern voice, "stay here."

"Ca—"

I shot one glance at Lola, and she closed her mouth with a snap. Felicia nodded nervously, hovering by Lola. I put my hand on the doorknob, and turned it, pushing the door open.

The first thing I saw, as always, was Wufei's scroll. The second thing I saw was Victoria, one of my eldest sisters, and head of the board of directors for Winner International Conglomerate. I tensed, but just as quickly settled into a relaxed appearance that was entirely faked. My stomach was in knots, but I kept my expression impassive. I brought my art supplies in, setting them by the door, and turned to find Felicia and Lola had followed me in.

"Quatre," Victoria sighed. She was standing by the window, holding back the blanket. She let it drop, and it swung a little before becoming still. She looked weary, and I was immediately on my guard.

Victoria couldn't be visiting without warning unless it was something bad, and it stunned me, in some small private place, to realize it wasn't that I didn't want my friends to know who I was. That didn't matter, suddenly. I just didn't want to expose them to the nasty undercurrents that could something flow through my family's business.

Victoria tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, and for that moment, I could only stare. She stood straight, and tall, her expensive red heels leading from delicate ankles to slender, tanned legs, into a short but well-fitted red suit. Italian, I guessed, or possibly British, given the contrasting trim and almost business-like cut. The diamond earrings in her ears caught the light and glittered reflections across the two girls, who were looking from Victoria to me. Felicia looked annoyed, while Lola looked...

Scared, I realized. She was a paltry knock-off of Victoria's elegance, wearing an L1 fashion that tried to pass some cheap fabric off as nubby silk. The green jacket was wet-streaked, the patched jeans no fashionable but simply make-do. Lola's hair was crimson-dark with the rain. Her eyes were huge, flicking back and forth between Victoria's patient observation and my silent waiting.

Felicia, beside and a little behind Lola, looked worried. Her dark skin was beaded and slick from the rain. There was a scar on Felicia's jaw that I'd never noticed before, and her braids were tangled, the paint flecking off the metal beads. Her jacket was worn at the cuffs, her jeans tattered and a little too long for her.

"Thanks for helping me carry this back," I said, to Felicia and Lola, in polite, distant tones. They frowned at me, puzzled, and I raised a hand, vaguely gesturing towards the door, tempering the command with a wry smile. "I appreciate it. I'll call you both later." The two girls didn't move. Victoria moved, her heel clicking on the floor, and I instinctively moved to stand between my sister and my friends.

Victoria opened her mouth, but I cut her off with a sharp move of my hand. I glanced over my shoulder at the two girls. Lola dropped her chin, shivering, but Felicia stared at me, wide-eyed.

"Fel, Lola—"

"Yeah," Felicia replied, grabbing Lola by the arm. They backed up, looking at my sister and me as though either of us might spring any moment. Lola grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut behind them.

"Victoria," I managed, in a pleasantly cool tone. "I don't recall inviting you for tea."

"I was in town," she said, crossing her arms and planting her feet. Even with her heels, I topped her by an inch or two, but her cold blue eyes could pin a butterfly to a Gundam at eighty paces. "However, I was not in town on pleasure, but because of this." She pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. "Care to explain?"

I unfolded it, scanning quickly. It was a printout of my grades from my midterms. Two As, a B-minus, one B, and a B-plus. I shrugged. Fact was, I was rather proud of even passing my art midterm, let alone all my classes. I was working full-time and carrying a full course load. "I'm taking classes that are a real challenge."

"You were given a year.  _Two_  semesters. But you've registered for summer classes, and then more in the fall." Victoria snatched the paper back from my hands, tucking it away in some hidden pocket in her stylish suit. "It was bad enough no one told me of your arrangement, but now you've extended it without discussion, little brother."

I decided to ignore that jibe. "How'd you get in?"

"Your landlady was quite amenable once she found out who was really living under her roof."

 _Fuck_.

"Quatre, what are you doing? Do you want to ruin everything? Come back to L4. You can take business classes at the university there. There's certainly no need to... " She glanced at the door and then around the room. "... Live in a place like this." I knew she meant more than just the physical surroundings.

"I don't want to study business," I said, crossing my arms. "I want to study something else."

"I'd encourage you to try, but you're only getting B's," she pointed out. "WIC—"

"—Is doing just fine without me," I interrupted. "You came all this way to tell me to quit school? There's seven of you, and twenty-one more where you came from. You can do it without me."

"Don't you give a damn?" Victoria threw up her arms, striding across the room to lift the blanket and stare out at the rain for a long moment. She dropped it again with a sigh. "Quatre, this isn't where you belong."

"Maybe not. But I don't think I belong behind a desk, either."

"We can send you into the field—"

"—I don't want to spend my days on construction sites. Or resource satellites."

"Quatre, you're the heir. You can't just walk away from this!" Victoria put her hands on her hips, and for a second I was reminded of my father, yelling at me about the decision I'd made. "This is your family. Your past and your future!"

"I don't want it!"

She stopped cold, shocked, and her surprise melted into a deep frown. "You have a life on L4. Do you really want to walk away from all of that?"

"I'm not walking away," I retorted, and leaned against the wall, my arms still crossed. "I'm just going to school."

"You fail to uphold your part of the inheritance, and you won't be doing that much longer," she spat. "Your trust fund is reliant on your participation as the scion of the company."

"So keep my names on the documents for three years, and—"

"—And then what? If you hate it now, how am I to be certain you won't still have that attitude in three years?" She tossed her head, glaring at me.

I shrugged. She was right. "You can't be.  _I'm_  not."

"Do you really want this life?" Victoria shook her head. "This isn't how you were raised. Look at the people you're spending your time with... like Lola Renault, from the South Side, unemployed father, mother's whereabouts unknown for the past eighteen years."

"You've been following me?" I narrowed my eyes, tensing.

She ignored me, and went for the deeper wound. "Felicia Carter, from MO-099854... . Fancy that. Does she know, Quatre?"

"No," I admitted, sullenly. "And if you breathe a word, I'll—"

"What? Throw me out like you do drunkards at that club?" Victoria's expression was somewhere between defiant and hurt. "What happened to you? You were a sweet kid, raised well, with everything you could possibly want and one day you woke up and decided to go against everything our family believes in—"

"I believed in peace more."

"—You cannot achieve peace through war, Quatre!"

That was it. I was shouting, too. "You cannot achieve peace by rolling over and letting them walk all over you! That's not pacifism, that's cowardice!"

"There are better ways than murder!" Victoria was shaking. "But you left that behind and came back to us. Why do you have to do this again? Why can't you just—"

I took my voice up to a deafening battle cry. "I don't  _like_  being me!"

Victoria's mouth opened, and nothing came out.

"I don't  _like_  those simpering assholes who only want our money," I snapped, pushing past Victoria to rip off my soaked jacket and throw it on the cracked folding chair. "I don't  _like_  the endless days of pushing papers and boring meetings and rearranging numbers just so we have more fucking money." I yanked my shirt over my head and threw it at my laundry bag. "I don't  _like_  smiling and laughing at stupid-ass jokes by morons who are only interested in whether I'm going to marry their daughter." I grabbed a dry shirt from my second-hand dresser and pulled it over my head, tugging it down with sharp jerks. "And I don't fucking  _like_  being told I have no choice but to do all that!"

"Quatre," Victoria said, after a long pause. She studied her fingernails, and sighed, dropping her hand. "This is our family. We all do our part."

"Why? Why do I have to be stuck in that? Iria got to be a damn doctor! Tarla's a school teacher! Mina's a journalist. I'm not asking for a lot. I just want a chance to be somebody other than goddamn fucking  _Quatre Raberba Winner_!"

"You can't!" Victoria spun to face me, her hands in fists. "You can't. You will never be able to walk away from it. And how dare you suggest that you'd want to? Iria, Tarla, Mina, all of us play a role in the company, have jobs we do that help in some way. Who the hell are you to say you can leave it behind?"

"I'm me, damn it, and I want to choose what I get to do and be in this life, for once—"

"You got your  _ONCE_. It's time to grow up!"

I recoiled instinctively at the force of her cry, unable to come up with a response.

"You killed, and murdered, and slaughtered  _thousands_ ," Victoria spat, her voice low and venomous. "We forgave you, somehow, and covered for you, and gave you another chance. But the war's over. You don't have that excuse anymore. You're an adult, now, and you have  _responsibilities_. You can shirk the guilt of your past but you can't walk away—"

"Don't  _ever_  assume I have shirked any guilt for my actions," I informed her, as coldly as I could manage. I let my mask shift, into the battle stillness I'd worn for so long. "You can't possibly comprehend what—"

"—Don't you dare," Victoria cried, but her fury was icy, not the blistering rage she'd held earlier. "I had friends, good friends, who died on that satellite. You owe me. You owe  _all of us_. We've protected you and kept you safe. Even our father knew in the end—"

"—Don't talk to me about that," I snarled. "You weren't there. You don't know."

"I know he gave his life for the company, and his beliefs, and his—"

I saw absolute, total blood red, in ways I hadn't since I was fifteen. "He gave his life for a damn stupid ideal! He chose the grand gesture rather than the hard fight! His death was  _pointless_!"

Victoria backhanded me.

I couldn't even put a hand to my face, though my skin stung. The diamond on her finger had sliced my cheek, and blood trickled down. I kept my eyes on the floor. If I moved, I'd deck her, and we both knew it. I wasn't some little fifteen-year old anymore, with a big Gundam but powerless otherwise.

"Quatre," Victoria breathed into the silence. "You are my brother and as such I will love you, but I will not allow you to wreck our company or our family one more time. Either you return and take up your rightful place, or I begin disinheritance procedures. The terms of your trust are simple. If you are not with the company as its head, you are not part of it, and you are not part of this family."

I raised my head at that. She couldn't have knocked the air from me more thoroughly than if she'd thrown a punch to my stomach.

"I will send someone to get you in the morning," Victoria informed me, her voice falling into the boardroom patterns I knew so well. "If you are not out front waiting, then I will assume your choice is another betrayal. And this one, little brother, won't be forgiven. You won't get a second chance."

"I don't want to lose my family," I said, very quietly. "But I just want a chance to—"

"You're out of chances," Victoria replied, and I blinked, suddenly aware of the weariness emanating from her, tinged with heartbreak. "My job is to make sure that our family continues, with every possible success. You risked that once, and I won't let you do it again. I'm sorry, Quatre." She sighed, and when she closed her eyes, I could see the fine wrinkles around her eyes, the lines at the edge of her mouth, pressed in a strong crimson line.

"Victoria," I whispered.

"Tomorrow morning," she said, and left.

 

 

 

I stared at the closed door for several long breaths, not moving, and not really sure what to do. I was startled out of my numbness by a soft tapping at the door. Frowning, and a little curious as to whether I'd fallen into such shock that four hours had passed so quickly, I didn't even bother to reach for my gun. I simply opened the door.

Felicia got me in the jaw.

"Goddamnit," I yelped, stumbling backwards, a hand to my jaw. "What is it with people smacking the shit out of me today?"

"Because you  _are_  a shit, Quatre Raberba Winner!" Felicia stood in my doorway; vibrating in fury, but no, I only felt exasperation from her, strangely. I took a breath, focusing, and worked my jaw. It wasn't broken, but she had a vicious right hook.

"Felicia," I said, and didn't let go of my jaw.

"Asshole!"

I sighed. "Yes. Fine. I'm an asshole."

"Do something about it, then!"

"Like what? Run back to my family and wear my expensive Italian suits and—"

Felicia's arm came up, but without much conviction. I dodged it easily. "Would you  _stop_  that?"

"You, Cat," she said, stabbing a finger at me. She halted, then frowned. "Quatre! Are you our friend, or not?"

"Am I... " I blinked, and all I could do was stop and give it serious thought. I frowned a little, staring down at my hand, and the blood on it from my cheek. When I answered her, I was completely serious. "I think so. I'm... sometimes I'm not sure."

"Not sure? What the hell do we need to do, rent out a billboard that says, we like Cat?" Her braids flew around her as she waved her hands in the air, and followed up the sarcasm with an aggravated sound.

"Actually, yeah... maybe," I said, still speaking in a quiet, serious tone. "I'm... I think I'm rather slow that way, sometimes. I'm just used to people who want something from me."

"People always will," Felicia told me, and poked her finger in my chest. "But just because we wanted your friendship back doesn't mean we're in the same category as money-leeching mooches."

"I never said you were," I protested.

"But you thought we might be," she replied, her expression fierce. "You never gave us the chance to show you that we wouldn't be... Fuck, Ca—Quatre, I should smack you again for good measure! It might knock something loose!"

"Please, don't." I raised my hands in surrender. "I've had my quota."

Felicia sagged, stepping away from me. Her entire body radiated hurt, and confusion, and sorrow. Her whisper sent trickles of ice through my veins. "Quatre... you were that Gundam pilot."

I couldn't answer. I only nodded.

"I won't tell anyone," she promised me. "But... I don't think I'll be hanging out with you for a little bit. It's a lot to process. I could... I could forgive some distant person for doing that, if that makes sense. It was easier to forgive something that wasn't there. But to know you knew, and you never said anything—"

"That's unfair," I snapped, hitting my breaking point. "I carry my own guilt. What did you expect me to do? Get down on my knees and beg forgiveness?"

"No!" Felicia spun. "I'd like my childhood back!"

"At least you  _HAD_  one!"

We stared at each other for a long time. Felicia broke the silence with bitter laughter. "I don't know why you fired on civilians. I don't know why you did any of what you did. And it would be so much easier to hate you if you really were an asshole."

I dropped my head. "Yeah."

"And you are, sometimes," she continued. I raised my head, surprised and hurt, but she didn't turn around. She was staring at the pictures on my walls; her hands hung by her side, her shoulders slumped. "But you're not. You're just... you just hold yourself away from us. It's like... you freeze us out, and you discount us. There are little things you do, that I know... we all know... you don't realize you do. When the coffee's not just right, or the silverware at the diner isn't spotless, or someone laughs too loud... you get this look, y'know?"

"No," I whispered. "I didn't know."

"It's like... we're not measuring up, somehow, but... the rest of the time, you do care. And I... I can tell you do but it's like you're doing your damnedest not to admit you give a damn. So I figured you had your own demons, and... " She shook her head, and the beads on her braids rattled. "I think you should go see Lola. I don't think you'll be able to salvage it, but you owe her an apology anyway."

"Lola... " I felt ill. "Both of you heard—"

"She left, as soon as she heard your name," Felicia said. She squared her shoulders, and walked to my door. I felt like it was Trowa, again, telling me goodbye and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it because everything that had been done, I'd done it, and it was too late now. "I'm sorry, Quatre," Felicia whispered, and shut the door behind her.

"Me, too," I told the empty room.

 

 

 

It took ten minutes of staring at my art supplies before I roused myself. Grabbing my wet coat, I headed out into the rain, bound for Lola's boarding house. When I got there, I had no idea what I'd say, so I gave up and just knocked. I'd deal with another bruise on my jaw if it helped.

Lola opened the door, and immediately stepped back to slam it. Her eyes were puffy and red. I caught the door with my shoulder.

"Please, Lola, I want—"

"No!" Lola sobbed, shaking her head, and backed up into the house's living room. "I don't want to hear it. Just go away and you can keep enjoying the joke. Don't ruin it now."

"It's probably already ruined," I admitted, closing the door gently behind me. "But I owe you an apology—"

"You owe me a fuckload, you bastard!" Lola said hoarsely. She choked, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and tears were caught on her lashes. "Laughing at us, all that time. Just pretending like you're one of us. Why? What the hell kinda asshole gets his jollies pretending to be  _poor_?"

"The kind that didn't know any better," I whispered.

I didn't move, and she began prowling the crammed living room, around the two mismatched sofas, the coffee table held up on one end by cement blocks, and coming back around again. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her body, and she hunched over, speaking in a low voice.

"Chip and Lisa have had a bet since middle of last semester," she said, almost conversationally. "I told him it's a family resemblance, y'know, maybe cousins or something. Chip started checking up on things... in October, Quatre Winner didn't attend the annual Preventers Ball. And his company changed their tune in November, to say he... you... weren't on an extended project, but had taken a leave of absence. And in December, he... you... didn't attend Relena Darlian's annual Holiday Gathering, which apparently was whispered quite loudly on the gossip circuits. Illness, or perhaps he got someone pregnant, even a few rumors he was actually the thirtieth daughter and was pregnant himself."

I snorted.

Lola sighed. "Y'know... or maybe you don't. I trusted you. I feel like a fool. I  _hate_  being taken for a fool. I kept telling them, I trusted you. You said you weren't Quatre. I believed you." Her low, almost hypnotic voice hurt even more than if she'd been screaming, but I couldn't say a thing. Lola stopped by the window, and scrubbed at the grime with the sleeve of her damp shirt. "I told them I trusted you to tell me the truth... "

"Lola... "

"You didn't. You lied to me, along with everyone else. I can handle you lying to the world at large, but you don't fuck me on a daily basis and lie to my face like that. I won't take that. So you can go and enjoy your little joke and go back to your life of caviar and private jets and pretty people and just forget this ever happened." She straightened, and rubbed at the window a few more times, then slowly stopped. Her shoulders were shaking, but she didn't turn around. "Because I'm going to be doing my best to forget, too."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't see how I could fix it, and an apology wouldn't do anything. It wouldn't bring back Felicia's childhood home, and it wouldn't repair Lola's trust in me. The only thing I could do was be honest.

"I'm staying in school," I told her. "I understand you won't want to see me again, but I thought I'd let you know. I'm staying... and I won't be pretending. Tomorrow morning, I won't be on my front step and I won't be picked up by a cab and I won't be going home and... " I took a deep breath. "I won't be rich anymore. Not even close. So... I won't be pretending."

Lola didn't turn around. She sniffled a few times.

"I guess that doesn't make much of a difference," I said, wishing she'd say something, anything. "But I didn't say anything because I... I liked the fact that you didn't look at me like... the girl in the clinic."

"The what?" Lola's murmured was almost lost in the sounds of a truck passing on the street.

"At the clinic, when I went about that cough. The girl was bitchy, but when she found out my real name, she turned friendly and helpful and... it made me sick. I just liked the fact that you... and everyone else here... saw me as me. Not some pansy in the gossip column with money to burn. I didn't want to tell you, and see you—"

"I'm not two-faced," Lola replied, stiffly. "I wouldn't do that."

"If you'd known I was Quatre Winner," I asked in a defeated tone, "if you'd known from the start, would you ever have even  _talked_  to me?"

She didn't say anything.

"Yeah," I told her. "I didn't think so, either. Lola... " I hesitated, still hoping, but she didn't still didn't turn around. "I'm sorry," I said, and left.

 

 

 

_"We always want to protect the ones that matter to us," Quatre observes. "We're just not very good at expressing that, sometimes."_

_"I suppose." She stops at the exit to the shuttle ramp, and checks the computer read-out. "It should be in the bay in the next few minutes. I'm sorry if I got carried away there, talking about my problems. You probably have so much to deal with, all the time."_

_"I do, but I like hearing how you're doing," Quatre tells her. "Maybe you should look into self-defense classes, if you're worried about things being dangerous."_

_"Do you think it'll help?"_

_"It's a confidence booster, which is never a bad thing," Quatre says. He glances at the door, and Claire takes the hint, stepping backwards. He grins and sticks out his hand, like he does every time. "Thank you for the escort, Miss Baker."_

_"My pleasure, Director Winner," Claire says, shaking his hand formally. "And enjoy the treats," she adds, her tiny smile causing a dimple to flash in her cheek._

_She's ten feet away before Quatre realizes what she's said. "Treats? What?"_

_"For your trip," Claire tells him, turning around to walk backwards with a cheery wave. "It's a surprise!"_

_Quatre grumbles good-naturedly for her benefit, and it makes her laugh as she trots off to deal with the next high-powered executive flying a personal shuttle. He pushes the door open to the gangplank. If Claire was involved, it'd only be a good surprise; she wouldn't let a stranger leave a present for him._

_He checks his watch. Ten minutes to his flight window._


	9. Chapter 9

The apartment was dark, the mid-afternoon rainy gray seeping in through the white metal blinds. I stared at the art supplies, feeling too numb to unpack them. I dumped my coat on the floor, kicked off my boots, and didn't move from my spot by the door.

I just couldn't seem to do more than breathe.

Eventually I woke up from my stupor long enough to reach over my head, flip on the light, and take a good long look at my apartment. My books lined a set of low shelves, organized by subject, and perched on top was the small stereo I'd bough, flanked by two little speakers. The two dozen CDs were stacked on top. I still had the card table, broken chairs, and old dresser, which I'd been meaning to replace. My walls were covered with drafts for my abstracts. The countertops held four hooks, holding mugs printed with amusing sayings. There was a bathmat in the bathroom, and four towels. I'd picked it all out, all by myself, and damned if I hadn't been proud of myself for every choice.

But everything I'd been so proud of... seemed less impressive, in the stark light of the overhead florescent. And it really didn't mean anything. It was never a risk. At any point, I could've called up Iria or Allayah or even Duo or Wufei, handed them a credit card, and they would've done a far better job. I doubted any of them would've spent thirty minutes deliberating which kind of towel to buy, in which size.

I sighed, and didn't move from my spot by the door.

Lola dressed herself in cheap polyester, passing itself off as silk. I could believe in the illusion, as much as the illusion of my apartment being something worth my pride. But I'd grown up with silk, and linen, and the best of everything. And here I'd pretended ignorance of all that...

Not a new thing, really. I pretended to be something I wasn't, during the war. Until my father's death, my background was only an impediment, and I couldn't rely on it, so no reason to mention it. And through the whole war, admitting my position as a Gundam pilot would've meant certain death if I revealed it to the wrong people. I'd kept secrets, then. I was still keeping secrets.

But my life was not on the line anymore, I told myself. Just my stupid sense of pride. Wanting people to know me for me... like that was ever going to happen. I was Quatre Raberba Winner, scion of the Winner family, former Gundam pilot. At least one I could've admitted, without risking repercussions. I may have been right when I implied that Lola would not have talked to me if she knew my real name, but Felicia had been right, too. Once we became friends, I should've told them.

I leaned my head against the wall, and closed my eyes, thinking about my options. I'd planned two semesters in school. I had asked for it, and gotten it; a sabbatical for the year. I'd left explanations for my absence in Alayah's hands, which had been perhaps one of the only things I hadn't planned out to the final detail. What I hadn't expected was to find school so fascinating, entrancing, that I'd want to stay. I certainly hadn't expected to find so many possibilities in this new life that I'd want more time to explore them. I'd figured a year of school, a year of normality, and then I'd willingly come back to my own life, refreshed and invigorated by my hiatus among the little people.

Little people.

God, Duo would clock me one if he ever heard me say that.

I ran through the numbers in my head: tuition, rent, utilities, food. I didn't need a ledger or pen and paper. I could do such simple bookkeeping blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back; it was almost as much second nature as rebuilding a vernier engine. I wanted to dry heave. Just the act of accounting itself was a resentful, hated thing: I am no more than what I was taught, am I.

I'm a cold-hearted, ruthless person, I chanted silently. Look at Zero—there's proof enough! Kill on the battlefield or the conference room. That's what you are, what you were raised to be. Pacifism is an empty catchphrase, if it's okay to destroy lives in business, just so long as you don't kill them, yourself. The same ruthlessness that my sisters condemned was what they encouraged when I worked for them.

Oh, well. Whatever.

It was done.

It was no better or worse than anything else I'd done, but I couldn't go back and fix anything. I could only promise myself not to do it again, and learn to live with the burden of guilt.

I put those thoughts aside and focused on the realities of my options. The list of numbers, expenses, needs... I tallied it all up. Setting them against the income from my job, it was stark in the darkness of my eyelids. I couldn't afford school. But more importantly, I had to decide whether I wanted to stay in school. If I had just lost all my friends, was it worth it? Would it really be half as entrancing if I knew I'd just made myself a pariah in the eyes of the only people who'd befriended me without a care as to my social standing?

I got up from the floor, and began pacing the studio apartment. I ended up standing over the phone. Before I knew it, I had the phone card out of my wallet and had fallen to my knees, shaking fingers dialing a number I hadn't called in months.

The phone rang six times, seven, then eight. What time was it there? Did it matter?

"Tyll speaking, who the fuck is this and why—"

"Duo," I interrupted. "I need to talk to Duo."

"He's crashed," Tyll said.

"Wake him up. Tell him it's Quatre," I insisted.

Tyll muttered something, and the phone clattered. Several minutes later I heard the phone being picked up, even as I counted the time and tried to calculate how long I could speak with the money on the card.

"Quatre," Duo said, and yawned. "Where's the fuckin' fire? It's six in the morning."

"I... " I opened my mouth and closed it. I couldn't say anything. He'd been right all along, and I was just proving it. I wanted to try life on the other side, and I got it. I just couldn't fight past my pride to admit it. Felicia's words, Victoria's, Lola's... the different accusations and incriminations bounced around in my head, and I couldn't thresh out which to tackle first. I opened my mouth, and said the first thing that came to my mind. "Duo... do you... "

"Do I what," he prompted, hoarse but not unkindly. He yawned again.

"Do you ever... do I ever make you feel like... like you're not good enough, or something?"

"Uh." Duo was quiet, and I could practically hear him scratching his head as he puzzled it out. "Good enough at what, I guess, I'd have to ask."

"Anything," I whispered. "Like... manners, or how you... how you dress, or maybe act, or something?"

"Quatre... "

I tensed.

"What... " Duo sounded irritated, but worried. "What's brought this on?"

"Just... just answer the question, please."

"Hunh." Duo grunted, and I figured he was settling onto the old sofa in his living room, getting comfortable while he considered the question. "Well... sometimes. You can be real particular when we're out eating. And you do get bossy about my grammar an' pronunciation." He chuckled. "I say something, and you'll use the same word inside a' five minutes, but say it properly." He drew out the last word, gently mocking.

"Yeah," I said. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, man, that's just the way you are. We all know that. You were... " He sighed, and I knew he was waving his hand around, the gesture he made when words failed him. "Y'know, raised with a different set of expectations. So we just kinda ignore it. I mean, Heero gets cranky if someone corrects his ideas about mechanics, and I—"

"But you've never made me feel like I wasn't good enough," I told him.

"You don't,  _either_ ," Duo said, a bit sharply. "Well, not in the way you think. I mean, fuck, Quatre, it's too early in the morning to be asking me shit like this. Look, you do stuff, and that's just you, and we're cool with it. What's going on, anyway?"

I checked my watch. A minute before I'd run out. Earthside-to-colony calls were damned expensive. "Nothing, just... just been thinking about stuff."

"Quatre... "

"It's cool, I just was wondering." I forced a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. "Look, you get back to sleep. I'm just being melancholy. Sorry I woke you."

"You can wake me anytime," Duo rumbled, and yawned again. "But it's still a bizarre question. Want me to call you back? We can talk. I've got the minutes saved, I was going to—"

He was saving his money to call Trowa. I knew it, I could feel it, and suddenly I realized just what an imposition it was to call with stupid insecurities when he probably had class in three hours and had been up half the night studying. I was an idiot, and that meant I had to solve my own idiocy. I couldn't go moaning to friends who'd just reassure me, when the hard truth was that it was  _not_  okay. The way I behaved around people was  _not_  okay.

"Naw," I said, and laughed softly. It sounded bitter in my ears. "Save your minutes to call him. Tell him I say hey, too."

"Quatre?" Duo's voice was baffled. "Wait a minute, it's cool, that's not—"

"Gotta go," I told him. Thirty seconds. "Out of time on the card. Sorry. I'll send you email or something, okay?"

"Yeah," but his reply didn't hold much conviction. "Quatre, are you—"

"Take care, I'll... I'll talk to you later," I said, and hung up.

I stared at the phone for several minutes before picking it up again. Reaching over, I grabbed the crate holding my bills, and dug out the number for the phone company. My deposit had been five hundred credits. If I waited the six months, I'd get that back, but I'd have to pay for the line in the meantime. To hell with it; not like the people I knew were going to be doing much calling, anyway, not with the way I'd treated them. Time to make some practical choices, but this one was relatively simple.

"Central Bell," a woman's voice said. "Billing department."

"Hello," I said, trying to sound professional. "I'd like to disconnect my number."

  

 

 

_The shuttle's low-slung silhouette is remarkably similar to a fighter jet, but on a large enough scale to fit four small seats in the body of the shuttle. There's not room for much else, and Quatre stows his suitcase in the bin running down the belly of the small guest area. Checking over the seats, he doesn't find anything out of the ordinary. Any surprise must be in the cockpit._

_He slides the door open to the cockpit, and steps around the pilot's chair to find a box on the seat. It's wrapped in bright blue paper with a big blue bow._

_"What the hell," he mutters, picking the box up gingerly. It's not much larger than a shoebox, and he slides into the seat, setting the box on his lap._

_Carefully he undoes the bow, to discover the paper is wrapped in such a way that he can lift off the lid. Inside are several different items, each wrapped in a different shade of blue tissue. Quatre frowns, checks the time, and decides he can spare the minute or two to figure out what kind of surprise he's dealing with._

_The smallest tissue-wrapped item turns out to be a note. He flips the note open, recognizing the angular handwriting, and smiles._

_Go incognito!_

_Opening the second tissue wrapped item, Quatre discovers it's a pair of cheap black glasses, with the lenses missing. Attached to the frames is a ridiculously large plastic nose, with a fake mustache hanging down. He laughs, startled, and promptly puts the glasses on. They feel odd, and the fake mustache tickles his upper lip._

_The third item turns out to be a container of bubbles. Quatre reads the directions, turns the container over in his hands, and shakes his head, putting the bubbles away. There's absolutely no chance in hell he's going to break that open and let the soap bubbles pop all over in the inside of his rebuilt little speed-shuttle._

_A gruff voice interrupts him before he can open the last item. "Hey, kid, window's opening."_

_"Got it," Quatre responds immediately, and shoves everything back in the box, but leaves the glasses on. They don't impair his peripheral vision, anyway, and besides, it adds to the challenge. He straps the box into the copilot's seat, and starts up the shuttle engine. "What's the runway gate, Bone?"_

_"Seventeen-A," Bone replies. "New look?"_

_Quatre realizes the overhead vid-camera is on. He shrugs, and reaches up, flipping the camera off. "Yeah. Gift from a friend."_

_"Friends are as crazy as you, I see." Bone mutters something off the line. "Okay, kid, Seventeen-A is coming up. Taxi around to north-north-east, tailwind at fourteen knots. Straight out, then angle across once you're over the water."_

_"Roger," Quatre says, adding the usual complaint just for the sake of constancy. "And I'm thirty-two, Bone. I'm not a kid."_

_"You're a kid," Bone says, laughing in that rough voice of cheap whiskey and too many cigarettes. "I've got kids older than you. Hell, I've got Sweeper badges older than you! Move it, window doesn't last forever."_

_"You want to see moving?" Quatre grins to himself, and straps the four-point belts across him, tightening them with a quick jerk. He runs through the takeoff pattern without thinking twice, moving by touch and feel and the sound of the computer systems alerting him at each level. No need to see the dial; he can hear the shifts in the engine as he revs. "I'll show you moving, you antique."_

_"I heard you were playing with it last weekend," Bone jokes. "Guess you finally took out that lawnmower eng—"_

_The rest of Bone's words are lost as Quatre slams on the power, jerking back on the control gears. The sleek aircraft screams across the tarmac, nosing up into the air and shooting off. For Bone's benefit, Quatre does four tight rolling spins into the headwind, pulling out evenly once he enters the ocean airspace._

_Bone doesn't say anything. Quatre just laughs, realizes the glasses are still on his face, and laughs some more._

 

 

 

I stared up at the row of windows over the shops, noting the flickering light in Jamie's front window. Steeling myself, I opened the door and trudged up the steps. When I knocked, it was several minutes before he answered, and by then I'd run through sixteen different things to say and discarded all of them.

"Cat," he said, looking surprised. "This is—" He stopped, looking at me closer. "Uh, how about you come on in."

I nodded, and he took my coat from me, but I didn't really pay attention. I was looking at the old wooden table, the scratches across its surface. The chairs were mismatched but sturdy, the mugs drying on the countertop chipped but colorful. It wasn't silk and linen, either, but it didn't look like my place. It all looked like...

It looked like a  _home_.

"Cat," Jamie said, putting his hands on my shoulders and pushing me forward. I resisted, and he backed away, his hands still up in surrender.

"I'm not Cat," I managed to force out. My throat felt tight, and I couldn't look him in the eyes. I stared at the table, memorizing the marks of years, indecipherable graffiti of a person's life. "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. I'm the youngest son of Achmed Winner, and the lucky bastard who's supposed to be running Winner International Conglomerate."

A chair scraped against the floor, and in the corner of my vision, Jamie sank into the chair. His expression was inscrutable, and when he spoke, it was nearly a whisper. "I see. Any reason you're not there, now, then? You've not exactly looked like you've—"

"I'm in school," I snapped. "I'm not running—"

"Yeah, you are," he said, and sighed. I raised my head, and he waved a hand. "Never mind. So you're some rich kid pretending at—"

"I'm not pretending anymore," I said. "I really am—"

"I believe you're who you say you are," he interrupted. "I've seen the news vids, y'know. But that's not what I meant. I meant... if that's what you're supposed to be doing, why aren't you?"

I shrugged. "I don't want to," I admitted. "I... I want to do something different."

"Or  _be_  something..?"

"Yeah," I whispered.

"Cat... " Jamie got up, and I backed up a step. "Quatre... " He laughed, softly. "That's going to take some getting used to. I appreciate you being honest, but I have to ask... why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I... " I shrugged, crossing my arms defensively over my chest. "I should have, before now."

"I don't blame you for not," Jamie said. He put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me towards the sofa, then shoved me downwards. I collapsed onto the sofa and he knelt before me, taking my face in his hands. "Cat... Sorry. Quatre. Look at me, would ya?"

I frowned, and took a deep breath, raising my gaze to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Shit, kid," Jamie said, and dropped his hands to cover mine. "I'm not sure I'd tell people who I was, if I had that kinda money, either."

"I don't," I said, feeling utterly miserable. I thought of kissing him, and pushed that away, focusing on his tanned, work-roughened hands around mine. "I don't have the money. I... I've been disinherited." I sighed. "And disowned, too, I guess."

"You guess?" Jamie let go of my hands and sat back on his heels. "You don't know?"

I shook my head. "We... we argued. And I told her I didn't want to be part of the family anymore... I don't want to—"

"You  _what_?" Jamie stood up, utter shock all over his bold features. "What the fuck kind of thing is that to say?"

"Hunh?" I stared up at him. "I just—"

"Cat—Quatre, it's your family." Jamie rolled his eyes, and stalked off to the kitchen. He yanked the fridge open and brought out two beers, opening them with sharp jerks of a can opener. "Family... man, you can't ditch family. Rich or poor, that's not what matters. What matters is that they're... sometimes, they're all you've got."

"Yeah, well, I've got too much of them," I muttered.

"Bullshit," Jamie barked, and suddenly he was at my side, putting the beer in my hand. "You need all the family you can get. Always."

"No," I insisted. "I don't need them. All they want me to do is sit behind some goddamn desk and sign papers and wear suits and—"

"I doubt it," Jamie said. "Yeah, family can have some crazy ideas about who you should be, but they're not going to throw you away like garbage if you don't—"

"There's a will!" I burst out. The beer spilled a little as I shook. "If I don't play the part, I don't get anything. And I don't want to play the part!"

Jamie sighed, and took a long drink from his beer. I just stared at mine.

"I want... " I shrugged, not really sure how to finish the sentence. "I don't know."

"Come on," Jamie said, putting his beer down. He took mine, and set it next to his. "Let's go to bed."

"Wait, no," I protested. "There's something else. That girl—"

Jamie was still, his eyebrows raised.

"She dumped me," I said, my shoulders slumping. "I guess that makes me twice an asshole, because the real reason for telling you who I am is because I don't want you to ditch me, too."

"I don't work that way," Jamie said, gently. He took my hands in his, and tugged on them, pulling me upright in a smooth motion. "We all have stuff in our past that we're not proud of. It may be news to you now, but you might be surprised how many shameful secrets you have aren't that bad, once you say them out loud."

Yeah, but I doubt your shameful secret involves destroying an entire colony of civilians, I thought darkly.

"Come on," Jamie repeated, and steered me through the living room, into the small hallway. We took a left into a small bedroom. "Sit down," he ordered.

I landed on the bed in the dark room, unable to even fight back. Jamie turned on a lamp, and I just stared down at my hands.

"Quatre," Jamie whispered. "Shut up, and just let it go for a bit. You'll figure it out, but right now I think you're just going in circles. You haven't heard a thing I've said, have you... "

"Hunh?"

Jamie laughed, and took my shirt by the hem, pulling it over my head. I let him, unable to resist or to find the strength to even say anything. He undid my boots, slipping them off and setting them aside, and then removed my socks. Then he sat back and gave me a crooked grin.

"Jeans, too, Quatre," he said. "You can sleep in your boxers."

"Oh." I stood up, numb, and undid my jeans, dropping them without thinking.

"Ah," Jamie said, wryly. "I see the lack of underwear is a regular thing."

I blinked, embarrassed, and reached for my jeans but Jamie stopped me. He stood up and I had to raise my chin to look up at him. It was an odd feeling. He pulled off his shirt and stepped closer to me, the heat from his body almost intoxicating against the emptiness in my head.

"Less laundry to do," I breathed, unwilling to move for fear he'd change his mind, leave, back away...

"Lazy," he said, and leaned over, his breath ghosting across my shoulder. "But I'm not complaining," he added, a finger coming up to trail along my chest and tug at a nipple ring. "I like these."

I gasped. The sensation shot down into my gut. I wanted to touch him, but something held me back. It was his touch, or the look in his eyes, or the tone in his voice. His finger trailed down across my stomach, and I held my breath as he scratched lightly at the blond curls around my growing erection.

"Jamie," I murmured, and flinched again. My voice sounded loud in my ears.

"Hush," he whispered, and licked my cheek.

I nodded, my fingers curling at my side. I wanted to reach out, but a sudden fear shot through me. What if he changed his mind? What if he woke up in the morning and decided that my secrets were enough reason to not want me as a friend? And underneath it, too, was the fear that I wouldn't be good enough as a lover. I had no idea what to do, though my body was screaming out any number of clues. It was a strange feeling, to be so intimidated.

Jamie kissed me on the forehead, then bent down to kiss me on the mouth, his tongue prying my lips apart. After a second he pulled away, frowning slightly.

"Hey, you... " He sighed, and put his hands on my hips, pulling me against him. His jeans were rough against my groin, but deliciously so, and I groaned under my breath. "It's better if you help."

He kissed me again, and I did my best to kiss him back. When he pulled away, his lids heavy, I tried to follow, to return the kiss. I felt strange, awkward.

We ended up on the bed, Jamie whispering things I couldn't quite catch, and then his jeans were gone and his body was against mine. I wanted so desperately to touch him, to roll him over and press myself against him. His tongue was on my chest, and I arched into his touch and just as quickly pulled back.

I was achingly hard, and I wanted more touch, but... wasn't wanting what got me into all this crap in the first place? His fingers were running down my hips, a leg pressing between mine, and I could feel his erection digging into my stomach as he held himself over me, kissing me deeply. If I had been happy with what I'd had, and been willing to leave it alone, I wouldn't even be here, let alone in Chicago in the first place.

"Quatre," Jamie said, sighing into my ear. "Here."

"Hunh?" I opened my eyes, blinking, and Jamie levered himself off me. I came up on my elbows, then sank back down, uncertain. What was I supposed to do?

"Roll over," he instructed. "On your side."

I nodded, and was startled when he slid into the space behind me. His body spooned neatly up against mine, and he draped a hand across my stomach, pulling me back against him. For several long minutes, we lay there. I was hard as a rock, and he wasn't moving, except for his fingers trailing in small circles across my hip.

"Go to sleep," Jamie whispered in my ear.

"But... "

"Your heart's not in it," he said, and kissed me on the shoulder. "We can try again later, when you're up to it."

I am, I wanted to say. Damn it, do you have any idea how up to this I am? But if I turned over and pressed him against the wall and ran my hands down him and around his cock and put my mouth on his chest and—

No. I sighed, and nodded, and Jamie pulled me even closer. I felt dead, even if my body was shrieking in protest. He'd said it was okay to have my secrets, but Felicia, Lola... I lost two friendships because of secrets. I wasn't sure if not telling Trowa how I felt was also a secret I should've told, but in my fuzzy, tired state, I put it down as one. Against those three, Jamie's assurance didn't seem to hold much water.

"Quatre," Jamie whispered. "Stop thinking. There's smoke coming from your ears."

"I'm not," I mumbled. "I'm just... "

"It's okay," Jamie said, and kissed me on the shoulder again. "Your brain is moving at light speed. Let it wind down, and then distract it with something else."

I opened my mouth, startled by the words that fell out. "Why do you put up with me?"

"Do what?" Jamie chuckled. "Insecurity doesn't look good on you."

"No," I said, staring into the room's darkness. "I'm serious."

"Ah." Jamie was silent a moment, but his fingers continued their gentle drift across my stomach. "You're smart... you're damn brilliant, actually. You make me feel stupid, sometimes, trying to—"

"Sorry," I said.

"Stop apologizing," Jamie replied.

"Sorry," I repeated, and winced.

"Don't apologize for apologizing, either." Jamie sighed, and hugged me with one arm, but I felt like I was falling, and he was only catching me for a second. When his arm relaxed, I could feel that spinning freefall again.

Jamie propped himself up on his elbows, and I could feel him staring at me. "You're handsome, and you've got a wonderfully dry sense of humor. You crack me up sometimes. And you can fight like nobody's business."

You wouldn't say that if you knew Heero or Wufei, I thought, and shrugged.

"And... you're unselfconsciously confident... even a bit brash," he added, softly. "Something happened today that just knocked the ground out from under you... " When I started to shake my head, he raised his eyebrows. "Don't even try to deny it. I don't know you that well, true, but this behavior seems pretty uncharacteristic."

I closed my eyes. "Not really confident," I whispered. "I just always... "

I shrugged, and wished he'd stop looking at me. I'd always known that no matter what happened—school, war, life, death, murder, peace—I had  _that_  waiting for me. My role. My place. My money. My family name. Except for that rare time between leaving for Earth and coming back to L4, I was never truly risking anything. I had my safety net, Felicia's advice be damned. It was always there, even when I tried to throw myself off the high wire to see if I could fly. Because the truth is, having money gives you a damn good amount of confidence. No matter what happens, you can just drop that credit card on the table and money will make it all better.

Usually.

"Just always," Jamie prompted.

"I've always felt like I just bought my way." I didn't really earn it. I got everything because of my name, my position, my father's money. I might've gotten my leadership with the pilots of my own accord, but if I hadn't had all that behind me, I never would've gotten the chance in the first place. It was the one thing upon which Duo and I had agreed, years ago. He always felt like no one had ever just given him freely what really mattered to him, what he truly wanted. He had to steal it. Me, I had to buy it. But he couldn't steal Heero's heart, and I couldn't buy Trowa's.

Jamie was quiet, waiting, his fingers resting on my stomach. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to explain the two years of my life, how so much now was rooted in those experiences... and, hell, I was also so goddamn hard, still. I didn't want to think about it anymore. I wanted that distraction he'd mentioned, and I wanted it right then.

I flipped over on my back and scooted upwards at the same time. His hand landed on my cock.

"Cat," Jamie growled, and his hand didn't move for a second. Then it closed abruptly around my cock, pumping a few times. "Let's get one thing straight. You didn't buy your way into my friendship, or my bed."

I nodded emphatically, gasping, my hips jerking a little, not caring as long as he didn't stop. He kissed me then, his tongue pushing into my mouth and I answered eagerly. My hands came up to hold his shoulders. His mouth was hot, wet, tongue pushing in and gliding against mine and I raised a leg, hooking my ankle behind his knee. He slid across to lie over me, his hips thrusting against mine.

"God," he groaned, and thrust again, our cocks pressing together.

I arched under him, my tongue probing, body shaking. One of his hands was on my head, propping him up by the elbow, and the other hand was gone for a minute. I heard something fall off to the floor, and things rattling, something tearing, a snap of a plastic lid. Jamie rose, kneeling above me.

"What do you want," he whispered, and ran a slick finger down my cock from head to base. "You gotta tell me."

"I want... " A million things ran through my head. World peace, but I don't think now is the time to ask... and I wanted to laugh, unexpectedly. Instead I opened my eyes and tried to focus despite the feeling of wet coolness slipping past my balls to run down my ass. "I want," I announced, and gripped the sheets tightly, "for you to fuck me into this mattress until I can't remember my own goddamned name."

Jamie laughed brightly. "Hell, I can hardly remember your name, Cat, or Quatre, or maybe you're really named Herman... " I rolled my eyes, and he stopped laughing, but his grin widened. "Flip over on your stomach... and I'll see what I can do."

I rolled over and was barely on all fours when his finger was in my ass. I arched, moaning, and he pushed roughly, slick and smooth, his free hand gripping my hip. The sensation grew, fuller, more, massaging and pushing and exploring. I rocked backwards, impaling myself with a pleased groan.

I don't know what I said or did but I could hear him chuckling over my incoherent mutterings. My hips were jerking, pushing back on his hand. When he pulled away, I nearly snarled. He came up behind me and I felt his cock sliding against my ass.

"Goddamn it," I growled. "Do it."

"Easy, easy," he said, and ran a hand down my spine. It was sticky, trailing cool wetness, then his cock was pushing into me. Just the head, and I gasped, tensing. "Easy, slow," he soothed.

I took a deep breath... and suddenly he was in. It felt like someone was ripping me apart, but without an ounce of pain. It was pleasure, it was fullness, it was a strange rippling sensation that started in my ass and spread out through my body. I was breathing hard, and my arms were shaking.

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Jamie said, a low primal groan, and slid into me until I could feel his balls against mine, his thighs pressed up against me.

It was exquisite; sharp flecks of brightness against my eyes with every move he made. Jamie pulled out, just a little, and rolled his hips. I shivered. He slammed into me, pulling me towards him with strong fingers at the same time. Each time, it felt as though he'd gone deeper.

I cried out, and he did it again, and again, and I just let go. I was reduced to fingers and cock and ass and muscles and nerves and the feeling pooling down in my cock. I was full, drowning in the sounds of traffic and groans and gunshots and mattress springs.

In... out...

Deep, so deep, and I cried out, moaning low as he pulled away. He grunted above me, a throbbing sound in time with his thrusts. Sharp, fast, and a slow withdrawal... picking up the pace, slamming, leaning over me, his chest pressed against my spine. I fell to my elbows, and reached for my cock, but he was faster, swatting my hand away and stroking my cock himself. I wanted to thrust into his hand, push back onto his cock. I shuddered, caught between the two.

In... out...

Faster, and I threw my head back: so quick, blunt, ramming into me, piercing me. I could feel his movements in my throat, I swear, and I tightened around another cry. Then unexpectedly slow; gentle, hips swiveling against me, rocking, a sweet singing of muscle and palm and cock and ass and thighs and shoulders.

In... out...

Time stretched out, my hands gripping the bed sheets like piloting throttles, thumb on the trigger: breath thick in my ears, liquid movement, flashes of light and pleasure. We were the deep, dark emptiness of space that envelops everything: reducing and diminishing to a single point of brightness behind the eyelids. His groans, my cries, the shift and draw and heat and thrust and wet and push and slick and clench and—

When I came, I screamed.

 

 

 

"Hey, you," Jamie whispered, and I smiled, sluggishly. He chuckled, and I felt lips against my neck, a tongue along my shoulder. "That's a good look on you."

"Mm," I said, unwilling and unable to move.

"I was thinking," Jamie said. He hooked his leg over mine, pulling me back until it felt like he was wrapped around me. "You're not really a Cat."

I groaned. "You're not going to get all introspective and shit on me now, are you," I muttered into the pillow.

Jamie chuckled; I felt it mostly through the reverberations of his chest against my back. "Naw... just that you aren't really domesticated, though I think you've spent your life trying." He ran a finger around my neck.

I elbowed him, half-heartedly.

He grunted, laughing. "Yeah, yeah, put the claws away."

"Shut up."

The only answer was a bite on my shoulder, but I couldn't be bothered to react, and he chuckled again. That was the last thing I heard before falling into sleep. When I woke, I realized it was the second time I'd slept well in a place not my own, and the first time I'd done it in someone else's arms.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

 

 

 

The next day I was on campus, for my first class. I walked through the door, stared down at the desk I usually took, and turned around, walking right out again. I just couldn't do it. I rarely skipped classes, but I just couldn't walk in and pretend like everything was normal. It wasn't, and I was sick of pretending.

Mondays were my afternoon to spend with Lola, and I found myself heading towards the food court before I remembered. Halting abruptly, I spun on my heel and headed to my apartment. Nothing had changed since the afternoon before. I'd come back at a godawful hour just before dawn, when Jamie had to leave for work. No kiss at the door, nothing like that, just get up, get dressed, stumble home, go back to bed. If there was a taxi from the Winner family outside, we missed each other. If they came up and banged on my door, I probably slept right through it.

I decided I didn't care. If that was the way things had fallen out, then there was no changing it. No going back. Deal with the consequences, and live with the guilt.

Just like always.


	10. Chapter 10

I ended up back at my apartment on Monday afternoon, and figured I'd deal with classes and excuse my absence on Wednesday. If I wasn't sick in body, I was in heart, and perhaps like the cure for the cold—rest and soup—the same would work for my mind. I doubted it, but I figured it was worth a shot. Except, of course, that I had no soup. I wondered if I had time before work to go to the grocery store. According to the clock I did, but I had no motivation. I just stood by my sink and stared at my apartment.

I turned on my blue lamp, ignoring its continued flickering, the reason some electrical issue I had never figured out. It cast the room in gentler shadows, masking much of the age, the grime I couldn't scrub, the feeling of being worn, used-up, and cast-off. When the knock came at the door, I ignored it at first, thinking it must be for someone else. It came again, a sharp one-two rap, and I instinctively reached for my gun before unlocking the deadbolts and opening the door.

The dying light down the hall threw Wufei's face into dark relief, and I blinked several times. He raised his eyebrows, his arms crossed over his Preventer's jacket, and waited.

"Oh." I shook my head, and opened the door wider. "I wasn't expecting company."

Wufei stepped into my apartment with a casual shrug. "I would have called, but your phone appears to be out of order."

"Yes." I dropped my gun on the bed, and went to set a pot of water on the stove.

"You have a permit for that, Winner?" Wufei didn't sit, but remained standing, almost near the middle of the room.

"Maybe." I shrugged, and tossed him a wry smile over my shoulder. "L4, perhaps."

Wufei sniffed. "I'm not on duty, anyway." When I turned around, setting out the mug—and thanking the wisdom I'd had to buy a second one a week or two earlier—he was regarding me with a thoughtful look, but he seemed amused. "Before you ask," he informed me, "I am here purely on the insistence of one pest named Maxwell."

I scowled. "Figures."

"Changing your phone number won't dissuade him," Wufei said, and this time there was a definite twist to the lips. "He could find any of us, anywhere, anytime." He sniffed. "And the bastard still won't come work for Preventers full-time. We could use those skills."

"Be careful what you wish for, Chang." I put teabags in the mugs, and checked the water. "Une might assign him as your partner, if he did accept a job."

Wufei looked horrified, but the look melted into a smug smile. "No. I'd demand he be partnered with Yuy. The two of them could drive each other crazy, just like during... " His smile faded, replaced by a stricken look, and he turned his head away.

"Yeah," I whispered. Partnering the two of them would be nothing but hell, given the history. A joke that once would have been funny, but... I sighed, and poured water into the mugs, then carried one to Wufei. "So. I'm here, I'm in one piece... "

"Not from what I hear," Wufei replied, looking me up and down. "You've lost weight."

"You've lost height," I retorted. He was at least two or three inches shorter.

He sniffed. "I'm here about your sealed files."

I was braced for him talking about my call to Duo, and had to backpedal mentally for a second. "My files? What about them?"

"Yuy keeps tabs on these things," Wufei explained casually. "Someone from this college attempted a full background search on you. Mostly concerning your whereabouts during the war."

"I see." I sipped my tea. "I'm not surprised."

"I thought I'd ask you, before I go in with a cease-and-desist order from Une." Wufei stared at me over the rim of his mug, his dark eyes inscrutable.

"I had a run-in with a Dean, when I was in the clinic, month or two back," I said. "They ran a full test without my permission, and racked up an impressive number of drugs in my system from the training." I paused, reviewing Wufei's words. "Don't tell me Yuy—"

"Yeah," Wufei said, and smirked. "It's a rather unfortunate virus."

I started laughing, and had to set the mug down on the table before I spilled it. "Oh, fuck," I said, still chuckling. "Y'know, Une's sometimes got to rue the day she ever asked any of us on, let alone you two."

Wufei attempted to look indignant, but the smirk was still there. "I had nothing to do with it. I just expressed my indignation that some two-bit middle manager had the gall to run a background check on a lowly sophomore in some second-rate college—"

"It's not a second-rate college," I protested. "It's a good university."

"—Who's studying art, of all things," he continued, unperturbed. He stared pointedly at the scroll, then shrugged. "You have an eye for lines."

"Oh." Caught off-guard, I stopped grinning, and stepped back, uncertain. "Thanks."

"I know you sent three to Yuy, too. He took a day off." Wufei frowned, but his lips curled up in mild amusement. "Une messaged me, wanting to know if the world had come to an end. I went barreling over to his place, thinking he must've fallen and hit his head, or been kidnapped, or gone off the deep end. Yuy, miss a day of work?" Wufei rolled his eyes. "But... " All humor was wiped from his face, suddenly, and he sighed, letting his shoulders drop. "He was sitting on his sofa, staring at the three pictures... "

I said nothing. I didn't know what to say.

"He was crying," Wufei whispered.

I swallowed hard. "Why... why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Wufei said, in that same low, gentle tone, no louder than a breath, "if you still know how to... " He seemed to change his words, mid-stream. " ...Reach someone, you are not completely the bastard you've been acting."

"But that was—"

"No," Wufei said, shaking his head. "It's not the gift, nor the fact that you were also the artist... " He shrugged, and finished off his tea. "If you don't understand, I'm not going to waste my time explaining."

Figures, I thought. I had the gist of what he was saying, but the precise meaning eluded me.

Wufei arched an eyebrow. "I take it your sister was not impressed, however."

"My... " I groaned. "Fuck, you know about that, too?"

"Hard to miss. The same morning Heero found the trace on your files, we received a request for assistance from Alayah Winner, to review WIC's security systems."

"Security systems? They're top of the line."

"In theory." Wufei shrugged. "In practice, turns out some lowly reporter was able to find a backdoor and dig through your employee record for the dates of your sabbatical."

"You fixed it, I hope." I scowled.

"And the reporter, too," Wufei replied. "Alayah took advantage of the conversation to drop a considerable number of hints."

"That's quite diplomatic of you," I told him. "I can't imagine Alayah hinting at shit."

"Crude, but accurate." He looked irritated. "She's worse than Maxwell."

"Great. Now, thanks to some reporter, my disappearance is going to be common knowledge. And the Dean poking around is just icing on the cake."

"A reporter digging is one thing. But a Dean?" Wufei cocked his head at me, frowning slightly. "Alayah told me about the argument. What happened? Unless you've got a Gundam hidden around here, I can't imagine why—"

"I don't want to be a businessman," I said, cutting him off. "It's not whether or not I'm pacifist enough for them—I'll never be, but that's beside the point—it's that I don't want to be their little brief-case carrying flunky."

"You were running WIC. Hardly a flunky."

"I wasn't running anything. I was delegated the job of pushing papers and signing things that I had no say in deciding." I set my mug on the countertop, and turned the heat back on for more tea.

"Would that make a difference?" Wufei's tone was contemplative. "If you were more in charge."

"Not really. I didn't like any of it anyway. I was more than happy to let my sisters run it. The problem is that my father's will is quite explicit. I either run the company, or I'm cut off."

He shifted, then moved to set his mug down next to mine. His fingers were long and graceful, running across the rim of the mug, a strangely delicate gesture. "They're your family, Winner."

"I've heard this lecture already," I said. I started to move away, but Wufei caught me by the wrist.

"I lost all of them in the war," he said, his tone almost threatening. "I fail to see how you could walk away from your past, when the four of us would give years of our lives and significant body parts to have our own families again?"

I yanked my wrist from his grip. "So I'm just supposed to put up with my family's crap for you guys, so you feel like one of us can suffer through it?"

"No." Wufei stepped back, his face averted. "That's not what I meant. But your family, Winner... they're your strength. They always have been."

"I want to be my own strength." Like you, Wufei. Or Duo. Or Trowa. Or Heero.

Wufei snorted, and gave me a look like I was a total moron. "Quatre, you  _are_  your own strength. It's just that your family is a part of that. Doesn't make you less to have it, but it makes you less to lose it. Especially if you do so because you're a stubborn mule who makes Heero look easy-going."

I wonderd if when Heero did something, the rest of us told him he was making me look good.

"It's too late now," I told him.

Wufei snorted again, and his brows came down. "It's not too late. Have you tried calling—"

"I don't have a phone."

He scowled and dug in his inner coat pocket. Pulling out a cell phone, he flipped it open and shoved it at me. "You do now. Call."

I crossed my arms and glowered at him. "I can't—"

"Oh? You can't? You really are as helpless as you want to believe." He held the phone up, and punched in a series of numbers. "Here. I'll do it for you. Talk."

"Wufei," I said, shocked. "You can't just—"

"I can, and I am, and you're going to—"

"Winner speaking." The woman's voice was tinny from the phone's speakers. Wufei shoved the phone at me again. I took it, glowering.

"Hello?" I wasn't sure which sister he'd called.

"Quatre?"

Victoria. I glared at Wufei, and he turned his back on me to pour us more tea. "Uh... yeah. It's me."

"Oh." She was quiet for a bit. "How have you been?"

"Taking classes, working," I said, not sure what I should do now that we were on the phone. "I... "

"I've been worried about you, Quatre," she whispered. "We all have. Your phone was disconnected, and Iria couldn't get in touch with you—"

I grimaced. I'd completely forgotten about the medical convention in a week. "I'm... tell her I'm really sorry about that. I'll email her."

"Good." Victoria took a deep breath. "Are... is everything else going okay? You're doing all right?"

"I guess so." I crossed my arms, and moved to the window, pulling the blanket back to look at the darkened streets.

"Quatre, it's not too late... "

"I thought it was all decided," I told her, a little sharply.

"Only if you say it is," she answered.

"You said you'd disown me."

"Your choice." A guarded note was seeping into her voice.

"And it's—" I was cut off by a sheet of paper thrust under my nose. I took it, glancing at Wufei, who lowered his brows at me. Dutifully I read it, then frowned, and he scowled deeper, nodding firmly. "Victoria... I... what about a compromise?"

"A compromise?" She repeated the question, hesitantly.

"Yeah... give me three years to finish school—" I glanced at Wufei, who arched an eyebrow and glanced pointedly at the paper in my hand. "—And then we see what I can do with WIC that uses my skills, and is good for the company and satisfies the board's requirements for my participation."

"Three years," she said, and made a small humming sound. I waited, and I could hear her inhaled deeply and let it out again before she spoke. "But for three years you'll—"

"I want to do this on my own," I interrupted, tossing the paper back at Wufei. He widened his eyes at me, glancing at the paper. I waved a hand, dismissing him. "And then in three years we talk."

"I would hope we'd talk before then," Victoria said, softly.

"There's nothing to—"

She laughed, but it sounded tired. "Not what I meant, little brother. I just... we all do care for you. I know you got a difficult deal, being born into something and never being given a choice. But it seems like you forget that there were twenty-nine of us, and some of us... " She sighed. "Some of us really are good at business, and were contributing and had hopes... and one small child took all that away."

I opened my mouth, and I couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

"I was twenty-two when you were born," she said. "And I've tried my best to never hold our father's hidebound ideas against you, but watching you throw it away—"

"Victoria," I said, stunned. "I'm... why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked." Her tone was dry.

"I should've realized," I amended. "I should've—"

"Yes, well, now you know," she said, cutting me off briskly. "I have a meeting in a few, but I'm glad we spoke. Your phone is disconnected, though, and we do prefer some way to get in touch with you. What if something happened? How would you—"

"Nothing's going to happen," I assured her. "A phone was an unnecessary expense." Wufei snorted from behind me, and I elbowed him neatly without turning around.

"I missed your birthday," Victoria said. "You're still at the same apartment?"

"Yeah... you don't need to send me anything." I tensed, wondering what she was thinking.

"You're still my little brother," she whispered. "I have to go. Take care of yourself."

The phone line clicked and went dead. I stared at the phone for a long moment, until Wufei whisked it out of my hands, folded it up, and put it away. He gave me a smug look.

"Better?"

"Depends on how you define better," I said, and then nodded. "Yeah. I guess."

"Principles are important, Winner," he told me, holding out my mug of tea. "But sometimes you have to compromise."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "You?  _You're_  going to instruct me on compromising?"

Wufei made a face, but his lips were quirking in a rather telling manner. "I've learned a few things working in a bureaucracy."

"Bullshit. I'd bet it's working with Po that's hammered such notions into your head." I took a long drink of the tea, and raised my eyebrows at him over the mug's edge.

"Oh, that woman drives me insane sometimes," Wufei muttered. He moved to the table, and sank down in one of the chairs. Fortunately it wasn't the one with the cracked seat. "She's reckless, impulsive,  _and_ a crack shot!"

"Why do I get the feeling it's the last one that bothers you the most?" I smirked and he leaned back in the chair, giving me about as wide a grin as I'd ever seen from Wufei Chang.

He shrugged. "So. What are you studying?"

"No, no," I retorted, settling carefully down on the other chair opposite. "My turn to ask questions. You showed up just to pester me, thanks to Maxwell, and to terrify the Dean?"

"I haven't terrified anyone in a few weeks. Starting to feel like I was getting rusty," Wufei said. "We've been letting Yuy do that job recently. Makes him feel like he's contributing."

I chuckled. "Who's he harassing now?"

"No one at the moment. New mission coming up, so Yuy's been practicing his glares," Wufei replied. "Suspected Gudanium running from L2 to the new L5 system." A flash of something crossed his face, and I felt the twinge in my chest, but let it pass. He pushed away from the table, crossing his legs, ankle against knee. "One of the syndicate branches, using medical technology as a cover. We've had several agents infiltrate, but so far we're hitting mostly dead ends."

"Mm. Any possibility it really is for medical use?"

"Not unless x-ray machines require bullet-proof plating," Wufei said wryly. "No, the problem is that Une wants the guys responsible. Otherwise we'd just institute total inspections at all stations, and confiscate everything we find."

"And you haven't done that yet," I said, running through Preventers procedure in my head. "How'd you find out about it? Tip-off, or—"

"Scan," Wufei said, shaking his head. "In October, after the Marshall case in Asia, random scans of containers became mandatory in all ports for various materials, including Gudanium. A guard on a way-station satellite caught the Gudanium three weeks ago."

I frowned. "So, on average, how many shipments are moving between L2 and L5? And how often are items scanned? And what's the percentage of times, in all likelihood, that the Gundam-plated x-ray machines would have been scanned and caught during that time period?"

"Not sure," Wufei admitted. "Every tenth item is scanned at all stations, I believe. One of our sources was a scanner operator. He'd been accepting money under the table, and took immunity when we caught him."

"Doesn't do the job now?"

"Nope. We're aware there are six other guards also being bribed, of about seventeen working the three scanning stations between L2 and L5." Wufei frowned. "Spill, Winner."

"Just thinking." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Just that if I were the guy running from L2 to L5, and knew there were random scans... and that one of my bribed guards was no longer working... "

Wufei raised his eyebrows, and drummed his fingers on the table. I grinned, and shrugged nonchalantly. It was all perfectly clear to me, but I found it amusing that it hadn't been to Wufei or any of the other top people I'd expect to be working on the case.

"Winner," Wufei practically growled—and sounded, for a second, strangely reminiscent of Heero. "Stop looking smug and tell me."

"He knows you're onto the bigger picture, because if you weren't, you'd have caught and confiscated  _something_  by now." I poked my finger into my mug, swirling the lukewarm tea. "What you need to do is let the scans run, catch a shipment or two, and deal with it like you normally would."

"That'd mean taking out a few lower managers, since we'd normally stop with whomever packed and sent," Wufei murmured. "But that wouldn't get us any closer to the top dogs. Almost a month and we've still got nothing."

"That's because they went to ground the minute they figured out that you'd scanned the goods, and knew what it was Gudanium. Because, if the chances of discovery were high based on the number of shipments and the percentage of random scans," I explained, "then it's highly unlikely that they would've gone even one week without getting caught, if they didn't have a bribed guard on every shift."

"So by not catching them... " Wufei swore colorfully in Mandarin, and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Fuck. We were too quiet."

"Yeah." I grinned, then wiped my face to something a bit more serious. "Sorry. I could be wrong, y'know, it's always—"

"No," he said, and sighed, looking down his nose at me. "You're not. Haven't been before now. Fuck. Yuy's going to blow a gasket when I point this out to him."

"You're not working with Po?"

"There're six of us running this one." Wufei pushed his cuff back, checking his watch. "I've got to catch a shuttle to L2 in two hours." He stood up, and stared at the scroll again for a moment, before transferring his enigmatic gaze to me. "Next time we'll do dinner."

"Next time?" I stood up, frowning. "I appreciate you and Yuy wrecking the school's computers for me, but it's really not—"

"Yes, it is." Wufei squared his shoulders, but didn't quite look me in the eye. "When I started working for Preventers, you came to see me a number of times those first two years."

"I was in town," I protested. "And it wasn't anything major."

"When Duo went off to school on L3, you made six trips in one year."

"It was on my—"

"You visited Trowa at the circus every time he was within a three-hour flight."

"That was—"

"And when Heero reappeared and got his own place," Wufei continued implacably, "I seem to recall you just happened to be in Bremen a number of times. Even though WIC's earth-sphere headquarters are based in Sanq."

"Europe's not that big," I said, confused. Had my behavior been improper? "I thought—"

"You were thinking then, Winner, but you seem to have a damn hard time doing it now," Wufei snapped. "You were there for us, when we were all finding our feet. It... " He frowned, and looked away, straightening his jacket. "I know it meant a lot to them, to have you come by. It was good to know that... "

"Oh." I felt breathless, uncomfortable, sensing between the lines what Wufei was saying, but unwilling to draw it out. I tried once more, and my voice sounded feeble in my ears. "It wasn't a big deal. I just figured that's what a friend is supposed to do."

"Exactly," Wufei said. He crossed his arms and stared at the mugs of tea on the table. A muscle flickered in his jaw, but otherwise he was almost preternaturally still. "And we... I haven't really been a good friend, in return."

"You... " My jaw dropped a little, and I closed my mouth firmly, shaking my head. "No. It's been good to have the space to figure out what's important."

Wufei blinked, and I was stunned to see his shoulders slump, just a fraction. No one else would have noticed the change, but I did. I'd hurt him; I could feel it. "Ah," he said, formally, not looking at me as he moved back a half step. "I'm sorry to have intruded."

I winced. "No... that's not what I meant." I sighed, and lowered my head. "I'm sorry. I'm just ruining everything these days, I think. I keep trying to be honest, and I end up just butchering things."

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze intent, and I did my best to hold still under the examination. Then he nodded, once, almost curtly.

"You're not an honest person, Winner," Wufei said, but he didn't sound upset. In fact, he sounded almost amused. "You were raised as a businessman and diplomat. You can out-bluff Trowa, out-scheme Duo, and you've chewed Yuy a new asshole and lived. I've watched you tell career Preventers to go to hell so sweetly they end up looking forward to the trip."

I nearly choked. "I'm not—"

"You forget. I went into battle with you," Wufei replied, implacable, that smirk back on his face. It faded after a moment, and he stared at me, hard. "I know you. Those of us who do... " He raised his chin, a challenging look in his eyes. " _I_  know when you're speaking the truth."

I raised my head, puzzled.

"So, I'll see you in a month, maybe, when I'm back Earthside," Wufei said, that smirk appearing and disappearing in a quicksilver flash across his face. "We'll do dinner then. Something fancy."

I blinked, and then narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm a college student. I do jeans and boots, these days."

"Hardly." Wufei's smirk was full on, that time. "You were born to wear a dinner jacket with a tie, Winner. It's just a step up from that vest and khakis get-up you wore."

"At least I wasn't wearing pajamas," I shot back.

"Pajamas!" Wufei looked indignant, but his eyes were wide. I realized he was enjoying it. "You have no respect for other cultures."

"When in Rome, Chang." I cocked my head at him. "Though if I squinted, it could've been a toga."

Wufei made a disgusted sound. "Don't confuse me with Maxwell. I do not drape bed sheets on my body."

"Bed sheets," I questioned, and grinned. "There's a story there."

"You missed it," Wufei said, affecting nonchalance. "Relena's winter party... "

"But I bet you got pictures," I pressed.

"I believe they involved several curious uses of fruit, too," Wufei allowed. "And Yuy might deign to give out copies, if you ask him nicely."

"I'll email him."

Wufei shrugged, and zipped up his jacket. "Or you can ask him when he stops by next weekend."

"Next---?" I gaped. "Wait a minute, I thought—"

"I told you," Wufei said, slowly, but there was a tension in his shoulders than made me realize he'd moved away from joking and was serious again. "We have a debt."

"Never between friends," I whispered. "You don't have to visit if you don't want to."

"Exactly." Wufei put his hand on the doorknob. His voice was crisp, but his shoulders remained stiff, and he didn't quite look me in the eye. "I want to."

"I'd like it, if you did," I said, and was pleased and surprised to realize it was the truth. "And when I say that, Chang, I'm—"

"I know you're not lying," Wufei said, his eyes narrowed, his lips curled up in a pleased smile. "I told you, I can tell."

 

 

 

I had Thursday night off from the club. The apartment building was quiet, for once, and the junkies on the steps seemed to have moved to better quarters. I hadn't seen nor heard from my landlady since Victoria's visit, which wasn't unusual. But I hoped it meant I didn't have to deal with any simpering. I'd been on my guard with the girl at the health center, too, and she'd never acted out of line other than to smile wider than usual when I passed her station. It was entirely possible I was just being paranoid.

It occurred to me if I stopped telling people my name was Cat that I wouldn't have to be afraid they'd find out I was Quatre. I didn't like the idea of watching anyone lean away from me with that distant look in their eyes, like Duo had, during the war. Perhaps that was one of the first times I'd had to see someone want to know me less because of my name, and not more. It bothered me when people got friendlier. It bothered me more when they got distant.

I'd stopped by the club and told Fred I wanted forty hours, up from the twenty to thirty I'd been working. The money would be enough to rationalize only seeing Jamie for coffee every few days. The exhaustion would be enough to stave off the loneliness of not seeing any of my friends on campus.

It was enough, I kept telling myself.

I was at the sink for several minutes before I remembered the date. Exploding in a frenzy, I showered, tried to comb my hair, gave up, pulled on clean clothes, and dashed from the apartment. Ten minutes later I was at the train station, waiting as the seven o'clock train pulled in.

Iria was the fourth person off the train, her massive suitcase dwarfing her slender frame. She saw me and waved, and I picked her up and swung her around. I wasn't normally demonstrative with my sisters but Iria was a special case. Besides, it was always cool to remind her that I could do that now.

"Quatre, enough," she fussed, and I put her down. I picked up the suitcase, and led the way towards the taxi stand. "I'm so sorry," she said, tugging on her coat. "I'm in meetings for the next two days, and then I have to head straight to L1 for a big presentation on the arguments presented here. The hospital administrators want to hear the news right away. So... I'm afraid I can only visit tonight." She peered up at me, chewing on her lower lip. "Are you—"

"I'm fine," I told her, and waved down a taxi. "Where are you staying?"

"Octagon," she said, and I helped the taxi driver put her suitcase in the trunk, then climbed in after her. "I'm hoping it comes with a complimentary foot massage," she moaned.

"Don't look at me," I told her. "I'm on my feet all night. My feet have got to hurt more than yours."

"You're still at the club... " Her eyes went wide. "But, Quatre! Can't you find something else? That's so dangerous---with fights and gangs and... " She shuddered.

"Iria," I chided. "You forget who you're talking to."

She opened her eyes just a little, and slanted a look at me sideways. "You're still my little brother. I'm allowed to worry."

I made a show of huffing.

"You're cute when you pout," she teased, and grabbed my hand, squeezing it. "Are you doing okay? I know it's probably fun, but is it really enough to pay for school and your own place and all the other expenses—"

"There are no other expenses," I said, shaking my head. "Tuition, rent, utilities. I had a bit of savings in my personal account, and that'll last until I can get financial aid."

"You shouldn't have to," she whispered. "And you should have a little money extra, to have fun."

"I'm working my way through school," I replied. "Fun isn't part of the equation."

"Oh, Quatre," she sighed, and pushed her coppery hair out of her eyes. "You always have been so serious about everything you do."

"It's important to me."

"I'm not arguing that. Just... " She slid across the seat to hug me tightly. "I look at you, and I still see you, fifteen years old in that hospital bed, so solemn, so intense... "

"Iria," I said, trying to appear long-suffering.

She grinned, and squeezed me tighter, until I gave in and hugged her back.

The hotel was nice, the dinner was good, and the conversation was witty. We kept away from news of the family, and mostly discussed her work modifying plague inoculations to combat the newest strains. She bid me goodbye at the end of the night with a hug and cash for the cab.

When I got to the apartment, I locked the door behind me and hung up my coat, which was when I heard something rustle in my pocket. Suspicious, I stuck my hand into my coat pocket, and pulled out a slip of paper. Unfolding it, I wasn't sure whether to swear, stare in shock, or laugh helplessly. She'd written me a check for two thousand credits. On the 'for' line, at the bottom of the check, she'd written in her medical scrawl, 'a little extra, for fun.'

 

 

 

"You look like you're doing well," Chip drawled from behind me.

It was Tuesday, my day to check mail on campus. I nearly elbowed him instinctively, caught off-guard at someone so deep inside my space. I turned sideways, blinking at him to cover my surprise, and pulled out the rest of my mail, sorting it quickly.

He grinned, but it looked forced. "Haven't seen you 'round much, man."

"I didn't think I was welcome," I said quietly, but trying to be polite.

"You are," he insisted, rolling his eyes. "Look, I was pretty sure Lisa an' I were right, but Lola's just... well, she's being a chick. And they can get pretty stubborn."

"I gathered," I told him, putting my few school memos in my bag. "But she did have a point."

"So did you," he replied, falling in alongside with me. "Bunch of us are going to the campus movie on Saturday. You working?"

"No... a friend is coming in from out of town." I thought of Heero, and reminded myself I needed to clean the apartment, maybe do some grocery shopping on the way home. "Can I take a rain check?"

Chip frowned, and I hesitated, but he broke out laughing. "Hell, yeah. There's a great place, just opened up near my digs. One-credit beers, all night long on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You gotta come by and hang."

I smiled, feeling a bit more human than I had in a while, for a reason I couldn't quite determine. "Yeah, that'd be cool."

"Chip!" Lisa's voice called out across the crowded mailroom, and we both turned to see her smiling widely at Chip. His smile immediately softened. I glanced back and forth between them. Lisa finally drew her eyes away from Chip to notice me and her eyes went wide. She blushed.

"Ah... " I nodded my head, giving them both a knowing look. "I see things have changed in my absence."

Lisa only blushed deeper, to a scarlet red. Chip looked a bit smug.

"So... other than that, how've you been?" I arched an eyebrow at Lisa.

"Fine," she managed to choke out. "And nothing's changed!"

"Uh-hunh."

"Mostly." She sighed, and grinned broadly, hooking her arm through Chip's. "What've you been up to?"

"Classes and working. Just sent in my registration for the fall."

"Really?" Lisa looked confused. "There were reports in the gossip columns that you would be going back to work at WIC in a month... " She flushed. "Oh. Sorry."

"Reports of my return to the business world have been greatly exaggerated," I replied smoothly. "No. I'm staying in school."

"Great!" Lisa's smile was blinding, and she did a little hop. Lunging forward, she hugged me tightly, then backed away just as quickly. "Uh, sorry," she said, leaning up close next to Chip. "Just... you're cool. Hearing you were gonna leave, and not seeing you... it felt weird. Y'know?"

"I wouldn't do that," I promised her.

"So, uh... do we call you Cat, or Quatre?"

"Whichever you want," I said, shrugging. "It's my name, after all. Even if it's a seriously bizarre one."

Lisa put her arm through Chip's, and looked pensive. He looked like he was trying to appear cool, but also waiting for the answer.

"We do think of you as Cat," she added. "But I figured I should ask."

"Call me whatever you want," I assured her. "I'll answer to both."

"Okay... Quatre," she said, and beamed.

Maybe there was something to the theory that telling people my name straight off would preempt a lot of difficulties. After all, 'Quatre' might be a strange name, and the chances of two Quatre Winners was probably next-to-none, but it was my name. Maybe it was time I took it back.

 

 

 

Thursday morning there was a terse email from Heero.

_Mission ongoing. Will send word if not able to visit._

The slight taste of disappointment was tangible through my morning class, all the way to my place. I checked my mail by the apartment's front door, still holding off the sensation of letdown. The mailbox usually only held the random fliers for neighborhood events, but that day it contained a small box. Cradling it under my arm, I trotted up to my apartment. Dropping my bag on the floor, I ripped the box open.

It was a phone.

For a second I stared, then started laughing under my breath. There was a receipt with the phone, detailing the information, including a notice that the account was pre-paid for three years. It didn't say which sister, but I suspected it was Victoria's peace offering.

The first thing I did was leave a message at Victoria's office. She was out, but I gave her assistant the phone number. I left a message at Iria's apartment, even though I knew she wouldn't be home for another week from her travels. I debated for a second, then left a message with the new number with the circus, and the assistant manager promised to get the number to Cathy. I knew she'd make sure Trowa got it, whenever he returned... from wherever he was. That made me think of Duo, and I called, but got the answering machine there, too. I was starting to wonder whether I should take it personally, but with the time difference, it'd be around ten o'clock on L2, and Duo was probably out partying. I left the on Duo's machine, and then called Wufei's home number. It'd be about eight at night, and normally he'd be home.

Again, no answer, but I left the number on his system, and then on Heero's. I doubted anyone had managed to get either of them away from work long enough to go out for the evening, but decided not to try their desk lines. Instead, I set the phone down and looked around my apartment. I had twenty-four hours to be ready for a guest, and at least this time I had warning.


	11. Chapter 11

I'd been hoarding Iria's gift, waiting for a good thing to spend it on. I didn't want Heero pitying me if the place looked bad, but that wasn't entirely the reason for the impulse. I also wanted to get started on spending the money before Heero showed up. He would be my guest. I didn't want him feeling like he had to pay his way. Considering how frugal I'd been, I'd probably unwittingly flinch when I pulled out my wallet if I didn't break the penny-counting habit at least temporarily. I could always go back to being careful after Heero left.

An afternoon of shopping at a local discount furniture store, and soon I had an apartment of ripped cardboard and several pieces of golden wood modern furniture. I stood in the middle of the room and admired it all, before hefting the card table and carrying it down to the dumpster. I'd grown up with heavy antiques, ornate and ponderous; the open steel-and-wood construction of the furniture felt light-hearted and playful in comparison.

It was dawn when I did my last trip to the dumpster, cursing and fighting with the second-hand dresser all the way down the stairs. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I climbed the stairs one last time. Back in the apartment, I straightened up a little. The best purchase—and the one I could least resist—was the two red rugs. Some kind of dyed fabric, they weren't too large, but were thick. I put one by the kitchen sink, and the other by the bed. I still wasn't sure how to deal with the fact that I only had one bed, but we'd camped together—if that was the term—back during the war. At least it wasn't a twin bed, I assured myself.

Sleep came with the sunrise, and I think I dreamed of bad directions, trying to assemble a Gundam with a small metal rachet and an eyeglasses screwdriver. I was startled out of the dream by the sound of a shrill ringing. It took a second for me to register, react, and flip the phone open.

"Winner," I said, a bit groggy.

"Chang," Wufei replied. He sounded as exhausted as I did.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. I hunched over in the bed, sheets around my waist as I scratched my chest. He didn't say anything. "What's up," I prompted. "Mission over?"

"Yeah," Wufei replied. "You just wake up? You sound like it."

"Up late. You sound pretty bad yourself."

"Haven't slept in two days. Just put Yuy on a flight. He'll be arriving an hour earlier, coming straight from L1. Got a pen?"

I scrambled for paper and pen. "Ready." Wufei read out the shuttle's call number, and I scribbled it down, throwing the pen after the paper. "What happened?"

"Wrapping up case on terrorist organization," Wufei said. His voice was flat, and the dull edge made me wince. "We got the bad guys."

"Need to know," I whispered, both a statement and a question.

"Yeah," Wufei said, adding somewhat uncharacteristically, "sorry."

"You're safe," I told him. "That's what matters to me. Get some rest. Tell Une if you don't get time off I'll come kick her ass."

Wufei snorted, but it was a pale memory of his usual derision. "I'll take a day. Don't fuck this up, Winner."

"Take a week," I insisted. "And I won't." He mumbled something, and I said my goodbyes. Dropping the phone on the bed, I groaned. Five hours of sleep, but I was awake now. Might as well get up and face the day... and brace myself for an exhausted friend's arrival.

Fuckin' great, I muttered to myself. Heero when well rested can be difficult; when exhausted, he's downright unbearable. But at least it'd solve the question of the bed—he'd sleep the whole time.

 

 

 

I was waiting at the shuttle station when Heero disembarked, one of the last in line. His head was down, the Preventers' duffle bag over his shoulder, a second bag in his hand. His jacket was dusty and wrinkled, and his hair was a little matted with dried sweat. When he came to stand in front of me, I frowned. He'd barely looked up, and I realized his eyes were mostly closed.

"Come on," I told him. "Let's get you someplace safe."

That word seemed to do the trick, and he nodded. I walked beside him, our shoulders close enough to jostle in the crowd, and he seemed to take it as the protective gesture I sensed he needed. Something had gone wrong on the mission; I was almost certain of it. And if my instinct was right, then it was a sure thing that Heero was blaming himself completely.

He balked at the taxi stand and dug into his pockets. I didn't even bother trying to catch his heavy-lidded gaze; I flashed a few hand signals down by my side, where I knew he'd see them.

_Hold, I've got it covered_.

Heero sighed, and climbed into the taxi. When I gave the driver the directions, Heero stared out the window with empty eyes and was asleep within a block.

Thirty minutes later we were in front of my apartment. I guided Heero up the stairs and inside.

"Go take a shower," I told him. "Clean towels are on the hook."

He nodded, dropping the bags by the door and stumbling towards the bathroom. One of the bags clanked oddly, but I paid it no mind; Heero was probably traveling with most of his favorite arsenal again. I busied myself making sandwiches and tea, doubting he'd be up for much more. I never had been, after a bad mission; the tension makes digestion a miserable experience unless the food is simple. I was just setting the sandwiches on the table when Heero stepped out of the bathroom.

His hair was a mess, but his eyes were brighter, and he slipped into the chair opposite me with a tired sigh. His powerful hands, broad and square, picked at the sandwich, before he bit into it. I ate in silence, letting him acclimate to the fact that he wasn't in a shuttle, wasn't on a mission, and was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, not a uniform.

"Thanks," he finally said, and glanced down at his empty plate. He was silent for a long moment, but his fingers twitched against the plate's edge.

"The mission," I said. He nodded. "How bad?"

"We lost two," he stated, in a harsh voice. "Michaels and Petronelli."

I'd met Petronelli a year before; he'd been a young guy, new to the force. Michaels I'd only heard of—she was a capable stealth expert who knew her skills. Heero cradled the mug in his hands and glared at the plate as though measuring it up and preparing to take aim.

"We'd tracked the organization to a hold-out on L1, and the Preventers there requested backup familiar with explosives, so Une sent in our squad. The place was wired. I'd run a scan; there were anomalies in the signature of the electronic system, but we had to act fast. It was a trap. They blew the building. Took five of their men and two of ours."

"Heero," I said, sighing. He didn't respond, other than a muscle flickering in his jaw. "Yuy," I snapped, and his head came up, his eyes narrowed. I didn't drop my gaze from his. "I'm sorry we lost two. But it's not your sole responsibility."

His voice was detached, clinical. "I was the most experienced—"

"I've heard of Michaels' reputation." I kept my voice as flat as his, brooking no argument. "Ten years your senior, and I doubt she'd be pleased to hear you say that."

"She never will now, will she."

Heero stared off into the middle distance, frowning. His hands were white-knuckled on the mug. I waited, saying nothing, and gradually something in him shifted. I could feel his exhaustion and desperate self-blame beginning to fade as he accepted on some level that I wouldn't agree nor would I argue. This was an old pattern between us; not every mission I'd led had gone well. If he had been truly to blame, I would have willingly chewed him a new asshole—I thought of Wufei, and nearly smirked—because that's what Heero would expect, and in some ways, even need. But in this case? No, I told myself, that wasn't the sense I got.

Heero's shoulders relaxed minutely, the line between his brows fading to its usual scowl. His eyes were focused on the pictures on the walls. "You drew all that?"

"Yeah," I said, recognizing the topic change for what it was. I gave him an abashed smile, willing to go along. "Abstracts are not my forte."

"I like them," he said, dismissing my response curtly. "Wufei sends his greetings."

I snorted. "You doctored that considerably, I'm sure."

"He did say something about making sure you actually had food in your fridge," Heero allowed, deadpan, but one eyebrow twitched.

"I just fed you," I said, getting up and collecting the plates. "I'd imagine that's proof."

Heero nodded, leaning back in the chair as he looked around the apartment. "I like it."

"Thanks." I rinsed off the two plates, dried them, and put them away. "I know it's—"

"I never liked your houses," Heero said, quietly. "They always felt like hotels. I like this place."

"You do?" I leaned against the pantry countertop, crossing my arms comfortably. I shrugged. "I'm surprised. So far the reaction from everyone else has been rather... shall we say... not impressed."

"It's more of a home than my place," he replied. I was startled, and he gave me a quizzical look. I shook my head, and he smiled tentatively. "It is. It feels more like... like you," he concluded, with a firm nod. "What are you studying? Just art?"

"And economics, history, psychology, the general stuff." I replied. "Finals are next week."

"Do you have to take all those subjects? Or were you just interested?"

"They're required for graduation. Three from this section, two from that... the university has this thing about well-rounded educations." I grinned. "And apparently our histories don't apply."

"I'd imagine not, unless you're planning on another Eve War," Heero said. A frown crossed his face, and he turned away from me, his gaze on the sketchbooks on the desk.

"It's only six o'clock," I said. "You can sleep, and we'll go out when you wake up. Or you can sleep until tomorrow morning and we'll hang out then."

His brow furrowed.

"I do have to study," I told him. "I'll keep the light low." When he didn't get up, I lowered my chin and glared at him. "Move it, Yuy. Sleep."

He arched an eyebrow—to anyone else, it would have been barely noticeable—but to me, it was loud as day. He was daring me to make him try. I didn't drop my gaze, and it was a long minute before his lips curled in derision, but he still didn't say anything. He simply stood, walked over to the bed and lay down with his back to me. Within three breaths, his shoulders began rising and falling in a deep, even pattern, and I knew he was sound asleep.

I shook my head at him, amused and flattered but also relieved. Manhandling an exhausted Heero into sleeping was something I'd hoped to avoid. I doubted even I would survive that experience. I flipped off the overhead light, and carried one of the chairs to my desk. Turning on the blue lamp, I flipped open my economics workbook and began reviewing my vocabulary.

 

 

 

Heero glared at his reflection, and I leaned into the bathroom long enough to give him an annoyed look.

I pointed at the mirror. "You break it, you buy it, Yuy. Let's go."   
He scowled, following me out of the bathroom, tugging at the black shirt I'd loaned him. It was just a long-sleeved t-shirt, but the way he acted, it was burning his flesh.

"I don't see why—"

"Can it, Yuy," I said, but there was no rancor.

If I let him, he'd hedge all night, despite his insistence that he wanted to find out how I spent my time. I'd always included him in my schedule before, although usually my evenings involved wearing a suit and shiny shoes. My suggestion for the night hardly qualified as such. It took little effort to pick up on the intense curiosity coming from him even if he did cross his arms and glower at me when I told him he wasn't wearing his Preventers' jacket.

A few minutes later we were out on the street, Heero dressed in my black jeans jacket. I'd offered him my coat, but he'd put his foot down at that, insisting he could handle the cold better than I.

At the club, Fred met me with a huge grin, clapping me on the back. He started to do the same to Heero, but one look from Heero and Fred's hand was wisely retracted. We breezed in past the line of people waiting and Heero raised his eyebrows at me when he realized no one had checked our ID or taken money from us.

"Heero," I mouthed, "we are  _nineteen_. We are supposed to get into clubs in hopes of drinking. Or would you rather I have them stamp your hand?"

He didn't say anything, but his nostrils flared, and he jerked his head towards the bar. I followed, smirking behind his back. As long as I stood my ground, he'd back down. I'd first learned that three years back, in the moment I'd handed him the disks and told him I could fight without Zero. It wasn't until the Mariamaia Incident that I'd realized if I challenged his abilities, he couldn't resist proving me wrong—even if he then went about doing what I wanted him to do in the first place.

Yeah, it's manipulation, I thought, ordering shots for both of us. He sniffed his cautiously, waiting until I'd downed mine before he drank his, and I allowed him that little victory. But with Heero, I was always careful to use it only when I had no other way to get him to do what he secretly wanted anyway. And in that moment, his gaze resting on the empty drink, he was as transparent as the shot glass. His fingers were drumming on the bar, in time with the music, his eyes just a bit wide despite the line between his brows.

"That's probably enough for you," I told him. "I don't want to carry you back to my place if you can't keep up with me."

Heero's head came up, and I nearly ruined the game by laughing outright. He signaled to the bartender, who glanced at me, and I nodded. Put it all on my tab, I signaled, and Allison shrugged. This time Heero didn't wait for me to drink. He slammed the shot back, clapping the glass back down on the bar with a solid thunk and a challenge obvious in his eyes.

 

 

 

In some ways, that night wasn't much different from all the times Heero had accompanied me to various professional gatherings. Most of what I had had to do consisted of smiling, laughing at stupid jokes, pretending to flirt with married women but not enough to get in trouble, and generally keeping that diplomat's smile glued to my face. Heero had insisted on his attendance at the more prestigious events, under the pretense that I required a bodyguard. I'd never protested, nor did I remind him that the Maganacs would have been there in droves had there truly been a threat. Sometimes I even suspected that he invited himself along out of some awareness that having a friend at my side was the only thing making such suffering even remotely bearable.

Being at the club wasn't nearly as torturous, but in most ways it wasn't that different. I ran into every employee, both on-duty and off, matched most of them for shots, introduced Heero, and chatted amiably. To my disappointment there wasn't even a single fight all night, so I didn't even have that to distract Heero. He stayed at my side, managing a nod to those introduced, and a glare to anyone else. Fact was, I'm sure some of my former coworkers considered him a rather intimidating bore, but I knew the signs. Heero was having a great time.

It's the little things, with Heero, or Trowa, or Wufei. Hell, even Duo only gives away his true feelings in tiny doses. Wufei's chin comes up when he's pleased; Trowa gets a little quirk of his lips that everyone else interprets as disdain. Duo's fingers twitch, beating against his jeans in time with the music, even when the rest of him is perfectly still. Heero shoves his hands in his pockets. For someone always prepared for the next fight, having one's hands not immediately available is akin to leaving the gun under the bed, safety on. Pretty much about as relaxed as a former soldier and current officer was going to manage, but I suppose that went for all of us.

So I smiled at my coworkers, tolerated their inquisitive glances at Heero, and felt satisfied that Heero was not nearly as bored as they thought. I even caught his head nodding to the music a few times, his gaze lingering on some of the people walking past. He sipped his beer with a casually lethal air, which didn't seem lost on many in the crowd. I noticed a number of people giving us a wider berth than one might expect possible in a crowded club.

"They're dancing," Heero mouthed at one point. I looked down from the back bar towards the dance floor, and shrugged. He arched a single eyebrow at me, his eyes on mine as he finished off his beer.

"I suppose," I mouthed back. "Waltz and foxtrot aren't worth much here."

"Doesn't look like dancing," he replied, his eyes narrowed. Two girls bounced past, wearing little more than six inches of skirt and a strip of fabric against their breasts. Heero frowned, and he glanced my way again. "Twitching like road kill."

I smirked. "Good description."

"They should take lessons from Duo," Heero said, his eyes still on the dance floor. "When he—" Heero stopped, his mouth open just a little, and if it weren't for the lights flashing overhead, I might've been able to tell if he were blushing. He seemed a little flushed, at least.

"He's out of their league," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant and let the moment pass.

"Yeah." Heero turned away from me, staring down at the label on his beer. With a smooth motion, he tossed it over the crowd into the nearest trashcan. It landed with enough force to shatter, and he scowled. "Don't have to carry me yet, Winner," he informed me.

I nodded, and followed him to the bar again. Looked like the credits I'd set aside for his visit were going to be spent mostly on one night's tab. But then, it was decent alcohol, and I figured he needed it.

 

 

 

_The on-hold display disappears, and a man about Quatre's age appears. He's of Italian descent, judging by the tanned skin and the name flashing at the bottom of the screen: Rod Descanti._

"Director Winner," Rod says. "I have your reservations here. I hope you're not calling to cancel?"

"Nope," Quatre says, grinning. "Just wanted to make sure you'd be ready for me a little earlier. I seem to be making good time."

"We will be, though those may be famous last words, Director Winner. You seem to say those every time I hear from you."

"Everytime... " Quatre frowns, not sure what the man means, then the name clicks into place. "Wait, weren't you with the Octagon in---"

"Yes," Rod says, and grins. "I got that transfer. Company moved me three weeks ago."

"Congratulations. I hope it came with a raise?"

"No," Rod admits, but there's a light flush on his cheeks, and he holds up a hand, showing off a ring. "It came with a cute girl, though."

"Ah-hah!" Quatre remembers hearing of Rod's engagement, and sending down a bottle of wine to the desk as congratulations. He mentally slaps himself for not recognizing the name sooner. "Good job, man. Tell her she got the best front desk man I've ever dealt with, and I know my front desk men."

"I will, but I hope she doesn't need any convincing," Rod says, then straightens up. A keyboard clicks in the background. "I have you reserved for a suite on the fifth floor, looking over the water."

"As long as it has a bed, and a bath, and comes with a bottle of whiskey, I'll be happy."

"Single-malt, or double?" Rod winks. "Bed, check, bath, check, whiskey, check. We even provide towels in this city, sir."

_"An improvement over Boston," Quatre quips._

 

 

 

"What about afterwards?" Heero's hands were out, swinging loosely at his sides. His head was tilted back, watching the deep blue skies overhead, tinted orange by the city lights. "Back to WIC?"

"Don't know." I shrugged, and balled my fists in my pockets. The spring night had turned cool while we were at the club, and I sniffed the air. The city felt stale; possibly a storm coming in off the lake waters. "Depends on if we can find a compromise."

"Ah." Heero nodded, his head still raised upwards.

"My building," I announced, nudging him gently before he walked right on past. Through the old creaking door, and our footsteps were near silent on the old stairs. I usually stomped; with him at my side, it felt like we were heading into another mission. I reached for my gun until I remembered and pulled out my keys instead.

Inside my apartment, I decided against turning on the light. The golden glow from the window lit the room well enough to see. Heero dropped the coat over a chair, kicked off his boots, and collapsed on the edge of the bed. He got up after a second, picking up one of his bags, and bringing it back with him to the bed. It clanked again, and I settled down at the end of the bed, my back against the wall, my elbows on my bent knees.

He pulled out a box, no more than six inches on a side, and dropped it unceremoniously by my feet.

"There," he said, already turning away. "Dorothy."

I raised my eyebrows at him, but he was digging through the bag and apparently ignoring me, so I opened the box. Inside were four small pottery cups, barely big enough to hold a few swallows each. Heero turned sideways on the bed to face me, cross-legged, and pulled out a bottle. Grunting, he undid the cap, and motioned at the cups. I held up two, and he filled them.

"Plum wine," he told me, and set down the bottle. He took the second cup, and I sniffed it carefully before sipping. When I coughed, he looked pleased, and sipped his without reacting. "Blame Chang and Catalonia."

"I'll do that," I said, wincing. It was a sweet, but sharp against my throat. Compared to the abrupt shots we'd done all night, the plum wine had a smoothness that soon warmed my body. I couldn't help but tease; his smug expression was annoying. "What's the occasion?"

"You not being a prick," he replied. A slight raise of his eyebrows belied the deadpan delivery.

I grimaced, thought better of it, and shrugged. "Guess I deserve that."

"Some." Heero refilled his cup, then mine. He set his cup down next to the bag, and pulled out another box. "That's from Relena."

"She'd better not be giving me more ties," I grumbled. I finished my cup, and opened the box. Inside was a photo album, and I chuckled. "This is from the winter party?"

Heero looked surprised, then nodded. He refilled our cups, and I alternately sipped and hissed, flipping the album open. I tilted it towards the window, and that was enough light. Sally, laughing with Zechs; Une, chatting with Wufei and Duo... my hands froze over a picture of Duo, caught unawares. Trowa was at his side, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Trowa, looking down at Duo with a surprised, delighted expression; Duo's mouth was open, his eyes shut, laughing at something. His body was tilted towards Trowa's, a trusting, inviting position.

"Oh," was all I could manage.

The clink of glass bottle against pottery was the only answer, and I took a deep breath before turning the page. Relena, wearing a strange hat loaded with fruits and vegetables, with her skirt pulled up above her knee. It wasn't clear what she was doing, but she seemed to be pointing at her kneecap, talking to someone not in the picture. Two men stood near her, one laughing, the other looking away. I didn't recognize either of them.

More pictures, even a few of Heero talking with various people from Preventers and among our group of close friends. In a few, he was even smiling, but I noticed in all the pictures his hands were out, hanging loose at his sides. I glanced at Heero, at the other end of the bed, but he was staring down at his duffle bag, deep frown-lines carved into his face.

Relena, again with one of the men from the other pictures, her hand slipped through his arm. Duo, hugging Sally from behind. Trowa, chatting with Cathy and Une. Relena and Wufei pretending to strangle each other... and then a plethora of shots of Trowa, Duo, and several other Preventers dressed in faux togas. I recognized Hilde, whom I'd not seen in a year or two, wearing a blue-flowered bed sheet and hugging Relena side-by-side, mugging for the camera. I laughed out loud at the picture of Dorothy dressed in a sheet, gracefully draped across her lean frame, but she looked mad as hell. Heero looked over, and I turned the photo album around so he could see.

"Who talked Dorothy into that?"

"Trowa and Hilde, I think," he murmured.

I held out my cup, and he refilled it, then I went through the album a second time, slower, noting the little details.

"This guy... " I tapped the picture of Relena wearing the bizarre hat. "He's in a lot of the pictures. New Preventer? Or new bodyguard?"

"New fiancé," Heero whispered. He stared across the apartment at the window, and the city sky's orange cast a strange glow on his face.

I felt like I'd been sucker-punched, and stared at the picture. "Oh," was all I could manage for a long moment before I found my voice. "It's been formally announced?"

"No," Heero replied, lips curling. "She told me that night. Said she wanted to warn me, so I didn't... " Heero shrugged, and finished off his plum wine, setting the cup on the floor. Then he slowly pulled his legs up until they were under his chin, and wrapped his arms around his legs. "I went to find Duo... I don't know why, I just wanted... " His fingers played with the cuff of his jeans, but he seemed unaware of the superfluous motion. "He was... I found him in one of the side rooms. Library, study... that kind of room... " Heero shrugged. "He and Trowa were... "

I let my breath out slowly, and set the photo album aside. There was nothing to say. The day had been coming for a long time, but in one night to discover both were gone... only Heero would walk away with his chin up, and no one the wiser how he felt. Even Wufei, I suspected, would have shown something.

Heero was quiet, and I put down my cup, scooting along the bed until I sat beside him. Not quite close enough to touch, but at least not in his line of sight and near enough to feel the heat from his body. He was roiling with emotions, and I felt dizzy: grief, anger, self-hatred, pain, and under it all, a deep current of regret.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I knew it was inadequate.

He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the window. "I envy you," he said. His chin came up, catching the light on his face, but his eyes were cloaked behind the tousled fall of dark hair. "Going after what you want. Having the guts to try—"

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," I said. "And that doesn't always—"

"No," Heero stated flatly, cutting me off. "If I'd—"

"You can't live on what-ifs." It was the lesson he'd taught me, during the war and a few times afterwards. Sometimes it seemed I had to teach it back to him just as often. "What's done is done."

"You meant not-done, undone," Heero said, and lowered his chin to rest on his knees. "They're very happy," he announced. He sounded like he believed it; I knew he felt like he wished it were true that he did.

"Yeah," I replied. "That's something."

"You miss him?" Heero glanced sideways at me, then away, just as quickly. There was a roll of thunder in the distance, followed quickly by lightening. It flooded the room with an electric silver. The after-image of Heero's question hung in the air between us.

"Yes and no." I leaned back on the bed, propped up on my elbows, and studied the scroll hanging on the wall. Rain began pattering against the window. "It wasn't like we ever told each other how we felt... so I miss the opportunity to have something. I missed it, and I miss it. More than missing him."

Heero nodded. "I wish I had memories."

"I don't know if that would make it better."

"Me neither." His fingers moved from the cuff of his jeans down to the bed sheets, twisting and plucking. "But it'd be better than... having nothing."

"But you have memories, more than I do," I pointed out, in the reasonable tone of one who'd been pickling in alcohol for several hours. The rain grew harder, and I waited as another roll of thunder passed over and between us. "I never said anything to Trowa, and he never said anything to me. Too little, too late. But you know they both loved you—" I caught my mistake too late.

Heero stiffened, and I sat up.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "That was thoughtless of me. They still love you, and always will. I think so, at least."

"But it's gone now," he said, in a very small voice. "Just once... finally... I really wanted. I aimed too high." He tossed his head, and the quick move revealed deep blue eyes, bitter and longing. "If only... "

"Again with the what-ifs," I said, and elbowed him in the ribs. "Cut that out, Yuy."

He snagged my arm, and shoved back at me. "Winner, I'm—"

"—A stubborn, principled bastard who takes everything too seriously," I answered for him, and twisted sideways to kick out at his hip. His eyes widened, and he flipped around. His fist came down on the pillow next to my head, and I grinned.

"That's your job description, not mine," he breathed. "I slept with Relena, once."

I blinked, completely uncertain how he'd jumped from one topic to the next. He was leaning over me poised on all fours, his fist planted by my head. His face was streaked with shadows in the rain-fractured light.

"Heero?"

My voice was rather breathless; even drunk, he'd wipe the floor with me if I pushed him too far. And in his maudlin, unstable, exhausted state, even a fingertip's brush could send him tumbling.

"I never slept with Duo," he said, and sat back on his heels. I coiled to sit on my haunches, and ran a hand through my hair. He looked as lost as I felt. "He kissed me, a few times." Heero's hand came up, his fingers against his lower lip; the gesture was curiously vulnerable from someone so strong. "I wanted to, but I never... " He sagged, but his hand didn't move, a finger running along his lower lip. "Now I'll—"

Things make sense when you're drunk, in twisted logic that defies explanation later. I proclaim that as my excuse, that and the combination of his longing, tortured into brokenness by his own ethics. That's the only reason I came to my knees as well, facing him. I put my hands on his thighs, and took a deep breath. I'd felt that wanting, that need, and I welcomed it as an old friend even if for once it wasn't coming from me.

"Heero," I whispered. "Close your eyes." He stared at me, suspicious, confused, and I nodded, giving him a little smile. "Go on. Imagine... " The rain pounded against the window, hammering at my senses. Slowly his lids dropped, and I leaned forward, brushing his lips with mine.

He sighed into the touch, and I grew bolder, pressing forward. I ran my tongue along his bottom lip, where his finger had been, and he tilted his head, opening his mouth. His tongue darted into my mouth, and I pushed for the advantage, bringing my tongue to meet his.

Slowly he fell backwards, until I was lying across him. His hands were running up and down my spine, searching, and I realized he was seeking a braid I didn't have.

 

 

 

This is not for me—and I knew it, deep down. And somehow it seemed right that anything I felt, or thought, be set aside, as easily as one disrobes before a shower. Bare oneself, fingers catching a shirt and pulling upwards to reveal tanned, scarred skin, the twitch and flex of muscles moving beneath the surface. Dark brown nipples, ringed with pebbled flesh, and I kissed each, swallowing the gasps and moans as the skin shivered beneath my tongue.

When I leaned up to kiss him, his mouth was the shape of Duo's name.

 

 

 

His hands were gentle, trembling on my skin, feeling their way from collarbone to pectorals to abdomen. Muscles that can bend steel, and yet his touch was elusive, hesitant as his fingertips slid from hip to thigh and between my legs to brush against my cock. I shuddered, feeling his fear and regret give way to something more primal. I could feel his want, his need, building, and it made me ache.

Reaching past him, I pulled the bottom drawer of the dresser open, digging around for the two items I'd purchased in hopes of someday working the nerve to bring Jamie back to my place. The thought of him made me pause, hovering over Heero. But that is not this, I thought, and here, we have only the moment. Heero's eyes were shut tightly, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He arched his back, his cock pressing against mine, and thrust shallowly. His whimper was caught in his throat.

I made my decision.

I withdrew the condom and the tube, unsnapped the cap, and slid down Heero's body. His fingers dragged against my hips, my chest, my shoulders; they pulsed against me in time with the rain's melody on the fire escape. His fingers alternately tensed and wavered, blunt nails scraping my skin. I kept moving, until I was kneeling between his legs. His cock was weeping, red, the cut shaft unexpected proof of his birth somewhere Earthside. Gently I stroked him, and he moaned helplessly, his hands shifting to the bed sheets. Fabric rustled as he drew fistfuls to his side, thrusting his hips into my touch, and I lowered my head to his cock.

There was nothing to do but let him in. Long ago, in a year's lifetime of blood, I had known his heart. And now I could again, when he came in my mouth, a low moan spilling from him with the release. His regret and grief was seeping away, drawn out as I sucked, swallowed, pumping him lightly. I fumbled with the tube, coating my fingers and bracing myself. The idea was one thing, and having it done to me was another, but to actually do it...

"Duo," he whispered. "Please... "

My heart broke, and I slid a finger inside him. He keened, his hips rocking against my hand. I looked up across his body; his head was thrown back, his mouth opened wide. Slick, tight, hotter than I'd imagined. The moments were marked by thunder while I stretched him, making a place for myself inside him even as I gave him room to hide within me.

 

 

 

One leg tightened around my waist, the other was over my arm, and he curled under me. His nails dug into my chest, slipping on the sweat. His eyes were closed, and I rested my weight on a hand by his shoulder. I stared at us for a second, my paler skin against his gold, seeing the fragmented light mottling my skin. I caught my breath as I slid into him. He hissed and tossed his head; one hand latched onto my shoulder, clutching, scrabbling. I shushed him softly, unwilling to break the spell. I had to close my eyes at the pressure on my cock sending rain-spattered pleasure up my spine.

Heero sighed as I came to rest fully inside him. I opened my eyes, staring down at him. A lightning flash turned the world blue, and that moment was imprisoned as securely as I. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his mouth a round 'o', a thin line of concentration between his brows. Hair damp and tousled, matted on his brow; muscular cords standing out on his neck. The line of his jaw was firm, proud—his expression intensely vulnerable as he relaxed into acceptance.

Thunder cracked, echoed in the small room, and I began to move. Small gasps met every push; his body shuddered beneath me, skin quivering. I rotated my hips a little and drove into him, biting my lip to keep from crying out at the breathtaking heat. His leg tightened around my waist. He rocked against me, his stomach clenching as he propelled his hips upwards.

I angled my movements, pushing deeper within him at every thrust, and he absorbed me, overwhelmed me. The room was spinning; I was swept up, moving at the pace of thunder, lost, following his lightning shivers. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. His chant was drowning in the sound of rain on glass, but I could see his lips move, and knew his prayer. I couldn't be that one, but I could let him believe it.

His hands sought out my body, running across me with a reverence I did not expect. I rose up further on my knees to arch over him, circle against arc. My hand found his cock, encircled it within our curved bodies, my hips rocking, moving him into my palm. Heero answered with a whimper, and his fingers clawed at my shoulder. His chin came down, his head tucking under mine. I cradled him close and pushed in, driving deep into his center. I tightened my fingers around his cock and his moan faded into a sob as he came.

His body squeezed around me, beneath me: his fingers in my shoulders, his lips on my chest, his leg around my waist. I came with a soft grunt, silver licking at the edges of my mind, running across my skin to shiver into my fingertips. Heero sighed, rocking a few more times, gradually stilling but remaining tightly coiled beneath me.

I knew I'd let him stay there, protected, for as long as he wished.

 

  

* * *

 

 

_Quatre considers the shuttle's computers screens, buttons, panels. The open ocean is broad and gray, and he remembers other trips, in the past years, and flights farther back in his memory, stretching into his first year on Earth._ _He confirms the weather will remain clear for the duration of the trip, and sighs. His first thunderstorm on Earth was terrifying, grand, exhilarating. Sandrock shook under the onslaught, more powerful than a hundred Leos, and Quatre had fought with the controls to keep the Gundam from toppling under the fierce winds._

_He moves through his memories, sorting them, remembering other thunderstorms, other rains, other days of grainy overcast skies. There are some that stand out, and he considers them, remembers what it was like to be fifteen, to be nineteen, to be twenty-two._ _He sighs, and flips through his registry for some decent music._


	12. Chapter 12

The morning sun was bright, and I squinted away from the light. A weight lay across my midriff, and I shifted, canting my head to see Heero was lying perpendicular to me. He was on his side, his head pillowed on my stomach, his back to me. I yawned, and he rolled over to face me, his eyes narrowed.

"When did I get dressed?"

The question was so unexpected that I laughed, and Heero frowned as he was jostled. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked down at the gray sweatpants.

"I figured it'd be... " I trailed off, growing uncomfortable under his gaze. I shook my head, then stopped as my head throbbed angrily at the motion. I sat up, twitching at my shirt where it'd ridden up. "Just... they were in your bag... "

"More exhausted than I realized," Heero allowed. He crossed his legs and leaned back on his hands, turning his head to stare out the window at the mid-morning light. His profile was graced by the sun's gold, and it nearly took my breath away.

Then I thought of what had happened, and that  _did_  take my breath away. Heero glanced at me, one eyebrow raised, and I shrugged a shoulder. "Awkward."

Both eyebrows shot up, at that. "Why?"

"Because... " I scowled at him. "Yuy! How drunk—"

"I remember it all perfectly well," he said, and his cheeks flushed a little. "I asked... " He turned away, to stare at the window again. "And you... "

"Yeah." I sat up as well, stretching, and stood. "I'm... going to take a shower," I said. I didn't want to hear his response.

 

 

 

When I got out of the bathroom—after downing at least half a bottle of aspirin— Heero was unpacking his bags. A large round pan, almost as deep as it was wide, was perched on a holder on the stovetop. He was setting out a box and a wooden board, and I leaned past him to pick up the pan. He knocked my hand away.

"Leave it alone, Winner," he growled. "When I finish my shower, we're going grocery shopping."

"I have food," I protested. He shot me a look, and I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, okay. Grocery shopping."

Satisfied, he took his first bag and stepped into the bathroom, and I busied myself finding cleaner clothes. I was just pulling on my shoes when Heero stepped from the bathroom, fully dressed. He grabbed his Preventers' jacket with a challenging look in my direction, and ushered me to the door.

"Damn it, Yuy," I snapped. The hangover was fading, but I still felt the gentle throbbing. "Don't you have a headache?"

"A what?" Heero looked amused.

"Inhuman bastard," I muttered, and obediently followed him from the apartment.

 

 

 

Our conversation was minimal, but that might have been mostly because I was too busy wincing behind my sunglasses while Heero looked alternately smug and exasperated. At the grocery store, I held the basket while he picked out an assortment of vegetables that I couldn't identify. Some of them were familiar when I asked the names, Heero just snorted.

So instead I took advantage of the chance to watch him. I had done so for a while the night before, after cleaning us both up and dressing him, startled that he didn't wake while I moved him around on the bed. I don't know how we ended up in that odd sleeping position; I recalled leaning against the wall and running my hands through his hair as he lay on his side, the pillow pressed against my hip.

Perhaps Heero was like insects I'd read about, whose chitinous exoskeletons protected a delicate interior. For all his enduring muscle and indestructible bone, his interior perspective was fragile. His strong hands hovered over some green fruit, plucking one from the bunch; his brow was furrowed lightly in concentration as he thumped the fruit skillfully, and deposited it in the basket without a word.

No, fragility would be a disservice, perhaps. Maybe it was simply my own bewilderment at running headfirst into his obtuse, pragmatic passion. If Zero revealed our inner cores, then it revealed one way in which he and I would always differ. At heart, I knew myself to be utterly ruthless, and it was still the stuff of nightmares sometimes. Heero, though...

The night before, I'd seen us as kindred spirits, grappling with being left behind by those we once loved. Despite our wish for them to be happy, it was not unexpected that we would both grieve the loss of the chance for that happiness to be with us. Cut and dried, I couldn't see my actions as negative, though I flinched each time Heero revealed a minute hesitation as he turned or walked. He had to be sore. Either it was bad enough that he couldn't hide it, or he trusted me enough not to pretend. I figured it was probably the former, but I wanted to think it was the latter.

Watching him study the different jars of spices, I had to acknowledge that whatever the consequences—now or later—I deserved whatever I got, and probably far worse. Because the reality was that I'd forgotten how thoroughly Heero would and could get swept along when his passions were aroused. I knew, and I cared; I'd just forgotten how much  _more_  he cared.

"Stop thinking," Heero growled, and dropped two more jars into the basket. I gave him a puzzled look, and he rolled his eyes. "I can hear the wheels turning from here."

I retreated into banalities. "What's all this for?"

"Cooking lesson."

"I can cook." I reached for a can of soup, and Heero glared at me. Sighing melodramatically, I pulled my hand back before he decided to pull it back for me, and dutifully followed him to the checkout line.

 

 

 

"Larger pieces, Winner," Heero instructed. He nudged one of the green pepper slices with a finger and shook his head. "Three-quarters inch square, not half-inch."

I brandished the knife. "You want to get a ruler and check them?"

"No need." His blue eyes flashed, and he smiled, that sly look when he knew he was right. "These are snow peas. That's broccoli."

"I know what broccoli is."

"Pay attention." Heero washed the snow peas in bundles between his fingers, then shook his hands sharply. Water flew everywhere, and he dumped the flat green pods on one of my two plates. "Almost done?"

"Almost," I grumbled, and sliced the last strip into squares. "Okay."

"Wok up to smoking hot." He peered over the edge of the large iron bowl, eyeing the interior with a judicious expression. "Now, crispest vegetables first. Check the rice."

I stepped around him to get at the pot of rice on the back grill-eye of the small stove. When I lifted the lid, a belch of steam came out and I waved it away in annoyance. "What am I checking for?"

"Useless," Heero muttered, and took the lid from me. He stirred the pot for a few seconds, and put the lid back in place. "The rice has to absorb all the water."

"Y'know, it makes a lot more sense now," I said, doing my best to keep a straight face. He glanced at me, puzzled, and I shrugged casually. "When cooking rice, add water. Seems to work better."

Heero didn't even blink. "I'd think you were joking, but I remember you, Relena, and the frozen pizza."

I rose to the bait immediately. "The directions said middle rack, damn it. It's not like the things were labeled—"

Heero jerked the oven door open, almost catching me in the knees. "Lowest, low, middle, high," he informed me, pointing at the rack slots on the side of the oven. He slammed the door open, and dumped the green pepper pieces into the wok. The room was immediately filled with a loud sizzling. I settled down to watch while he stirred in the sauce, mixing it in with the vegetables.

I scratched my neck and studied his impassive expression, noting the way at random points his lip would curl up, as if he'd tripped across some fond memory. It made me curious, and I wondered if for once I'd get an explanation—or two—from my normally taciturn friend.

"Duo taught you to cook?"

Heero chuckled. "I taught  _him_ , between the wars."

"Oh." I blinked. "So you already knew—"

"Mm." Heero nodded, and gave the wok's contents a few more stirs. "Learned when I was little."

"Your... guardian taught you?" I tried to sound nonchalant. Heero shook his head, and I frowned slightly, intrigued. "Or Dr. J.?"

"Hardly," Heero said, and his smile was shyly genuine. "Some guy on the resource satellite." His eyes shuttered. "I never learned his name... I was only nine or ten, and he was just one more guy keeping the place running."

"Yeah," I replied, suddenly struck by an odd notion, and couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice. "Names and people aren't as important as what they can do for us, teach us, are they."

"Cynicism doesn't become you, Winner," Heero replied softly. His fingers were tense on the wooden spoon, but he sighed, and checked the rice a second time. When he closed the lid, the clank sounded final, but he surprised me by continuing to speak over the sizzle of the vegetables. "More than any of us, you and I are tools." He busied himself with cleaning up the countertop, turning away from me a little. "You were raised and trained from birth for money. I was the same, but for murder."

"We don't have to be that our whole lives," I protested, but softly, and not sure I believed my own words. "We can be more than that."

"Can we?" He looked around my apartment, his eyebrows raised. "You live in the slums, but you still act and speak like the prince you were born to be. I work for Preventers and shoot only in self-defense, but that's still a gun in my hand—"

"—I'm not disputing that—"

"—And we still see those around us as a means to achieve our ends," Heero stated in a flat voice. "We use each other, and the only reason it doesn't bother us is because we know it's true of the other, and suffer no delusions about it." He was giving me an answer for the night before, and I stared at him, not sure how to reply. He just arched an eyebrow, that elusive smirk flashing quickly as he murmured, "at least, this used to be true."

He spooned out the rice into my two mismatched bowls, but didn't say more. A generous helping of vegetables on each bowl, and I followed him to the table, unsurprised when he produced chopsticks from his bag.

We sat, and I fiddled with the chopsticks for a moment, before broaching the subject he'd left hanging. "What do you mean... used to be true? I have no delusions."

Heero shrugged.

I scowled, both at him and at my uncooperative chopsticks, and carefully shoveled some of the vegetables into my mouth. It was excellent; I hoped I could get him to write down what he'd done. So much of it seemed to be based on cooking entirely on instinct, which made little sense to me. I tried a different approach.

"Are you going to tell Duo?"

He shrugged again, but only barely. "Why? What business is it of his?" His tone was guarded, and he glanced at me from under his lashes, though anyone else would have thought he was continuing to eat, unperturbed.

"Just that... " I shook my head. "I don't know."

Heero raised his eyebrows, and I could read the question, plain as day: Will you tell Trowa?

"Hell, no," I replied, rather sharply. "I have no obligations to him."

Heero set down his chopsticks and leaned his elbows on the table. "It's been three years, Winner. We need closure, or so Relena told me." He picked up his chopsticks, turning them in agile fingers. "You got yours... "

And he hadn't; he didn't need to spell it out.

"Sorry," I mumbled around a mouthful of rice.

Heero nodded and shrugged at the same time, both dismissing my apology and accepting it. "Some day you'll stop feeling guilty for every damn thing."

"I do not—"

"—You'd feel guilty for the lack of air in space," Heero continued, ignoring me.

I glowered, catching the slight twitch of Heero's mouth that indicated he was laughing on the inside.

"I know I overdo it," I confessed. "But three years isn't enough time... "

"Three years isn't," Heero agreed softly. He stared down at his meal; I could see a sliver of blue under his lashes. "It's not enough time to forgive ourselves. But it'll happen."

"We're nineteen," I said. "How is it we already have a lifetime's worth of regrets?" I gave him a rueful glance, and he returned it, adding an eyebrow quirk. "Hard to come up with something exciting or worthwhile when it feels like nothing can top what you did at fifteen."

"That's depressing," Heero replied. His chopsticks clattered against the bowl as he finished his dinner. "We have fifty more years of living, and if that's the best we can manage—"

"—Building a whole damn Gundam by myself was pretty impressive, I thought." I grinned, but it was wiped from my face as I saw Heero's expression. That sole event, out of context, might have been something to boast, but none of what followed was pleasant or impressive on any humanitarian scale. I lowered my head to stare at my bowl. "I'll spend the rest of my life making up for that. The next five, even."

"One lifetime is all you get!" Heero got up, stalking to the sink to rinse his bowl and chopsticks. He began banging the pots and knifes as he washed them off. "It's all black and white for you. You're worse than Chang! You seem determined to condemn yourself. Do something about it, and stop moping and if I ever hear of you using soap on this wok, I'm coming back to this continent and kicking your ass!"

I blinked, and then nodded slowly. "No soap."

"Good," Heero snapped. He set the wok down in the sink, and leaned over the countertop. His hands gripped the edge tightly, and I waited, uncertain. Heero pushed away, and came back down to sit across from me, an apologetic smile bringing up the corners of his mouth. "Right now, I don't think I want to  _be_  with anyone. And no offense, if I did, you wouldn't be on the list."

"Yeah." I shrugged, and ate the last bites of my meal, swallowing before I spoke again. "I think we'd kill each other within twenty-four hours."

"No," Heero said, thoughtfully. "Never managed it during the wars, doubt we'd succeed now. Just that... you're one of the most important people in my life. And I don't ever want to look at you as... " He paused, ducking his head. "... a  _replacement_."

I set my bowl down, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Heero's eyebrows went up at the crude motion, and I rolled my eyes. "I know," and I meant both his remonstration of my table manners and his reasons for seeing what we'd done as a one-time thing. I got up and set my bowl in the sink. Water glistened on the wok, perched on its holder, and I ran a finger along the edge. "I want to be with someone, though," I whispered.

"You can," Heero replied, in a mildly annoyed voice. "Didn't say this had to be a group class in celibacy."

"If it is, we're failing already." I smirked. I turned around, leaning against the counter, my fingers wrapped around the edge. I kicked a foot out, crossing my ankles. "But I want someone, too. I know Trowa and Duo are—"

"—Discreet," Heero finished for me. He pursed his lips, and tilted his chair to rest on the back legs. "But it's not like Duo or Relena ever rubbed it in my face, that they moved on... " He frowned. "I knew, but we didn't discuss it."

"Maybe sometimes that's better. Maybe we're not supposed to be perfectly honest, even among friends." I was startled to see Heero shoot me a baleful expression. I gave him a bewildered look. "What? I'm just saying—"

"No," Heero said, flat. "We have to be honest with friends. With whom else  _can_  we be? You're—"

"—Don't you dare also tell me I'm a lying creep," I muttered.

Heero looked smug. "So someone else has laid that one on you, I gather."

"Chang."

"Mm."

I decided to jump back to an earlier topic, and hope Heero fell for the diversion. I doubted he would, but I could hope. "Anyway, no. I won't breathe a word to anyone of... " I shrugged, not wishing to define the visit. A label would minimize it; I was sure of that much.

"I'm not ashamed." Heero's head was cocked to the side, and his brow was furrowed, his tone just the slightest bit defensive. He was worried, and wondering whether I was misinterpreting his meaning.

"I didn't mean that," I assured him. "Just... it's a private thing." Too private, I knew, seeing Heero's muscles shift and bunch beneath his simple shirt as he stretched in the chair. Such an unbelievable body, coupled with a passion that had nearly burnt me to the core. If I had been Duo, and had seen that even once, I never would have let it go. But I wasn't Duo. And I'd have to live with yet one more secret: that I'd glimpsed the depths of Heero's heart, and had seen it would never be for me.

It was a lonely, humbling feeling.

I wondered if anyone would ever cry out my name like that, helplessly. I wasn't sure if I wanted anyone to. I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear myself do it, let go like that, give up so thoroughly— I realized Heero was talking, and snapped myself back to attention.

"—Museums?"

"Hunh?"

"Winner," Heero said, shaking his head. He stood up, and grabbed his jacket. "It's only two o'clock. Doesn't this city have any museums?"

"Yeah," I replied, running through a general list in my head. "The Museum of Natural History, and the Museum of Science and Spatial Agriculture... and I think a few memorials to various wars and political stuff like that. Historic figures, that kind of thing."

"Then put your shoes on." Heero bent over, lacing up his boots, and gave me an expectant look as he straightened up. "Let's go."

Startled, I nodded, and slipped my feet into my boots. Heero wanted to visit a museum. Either my hospitality skill was seriously out of practice, or there was more to him now than I'd realized. I decided there was only one way to find out. I led him from the apartment and towards the biggest Wartime Museum.

 

 

_Quatre straightens up the cockpit, putting the gifts back in the box and strapping the belt down. There's usually turbulence over the lakes, and he doesn't want to struggle with flying across unfamiliar territory while things are being jostled about next to him._

_"Shuttle FG-9844-A-17, we have you on radar," a woman's voice comes over the comm. "Please confirm identification."_

_"Sending encrypted confirmation now," Quatre replies. "Currently angling south-west-west, at—"_

_"We have your speed and location," the woman says, and there's practically a yawn in her tone. "Confirming gate reservation, gate 2-A, one week's docking in Hangar 19." She pauses, and her next words are less bored, and almost startled, if dry. "Systems say this is Quatre Winner's shuttle... "_

_"That's right, ma'am." Quatre adds the ma'am out of habit. It's not like flying out of his homeport, where he's known the guys in the tower for several years. He fights the urge to dig around for a comb to neaten up, however, and grins at himself. "Homeport, Brussels."_

_"Pilot for Quatre Winner's shuttle, identify yourself. There's no indication on the system records." She's stern._

_"This is Quatre Raberba Winner," Quatre says, stifling a sigh. He hates this part._

_"Right." The response sounds like a verbal version of tapping one's fingers on a table. Annoyed. "Not amusing. Identify yourself properly, or I'll be calling security."_

_Quatre reaches up and flips on the vid-comm. He gives it a serious look, rather than the smile and wave he impulsively considers and discards._

_"Oh." The woman mumbles something, and her deference is almost irritating, considering her previous skepticism. "You're Director Winner. I didn't know you could fly."_

_Since I was fourteen, but that's not on the public records, Quatre thinks. And a Gundam probably doesn't count anyway. Or an Alliance shuttle, for that matter. He nods firmly to the camera, and leaves it on, returning his attention to the endless miles of lake below him._

_"Director Winner, our manager Michael Atkins will be guiding you in," the woman tells him._

_"Fine," Quatre replies. A four-hour flight, alone with music and the memories crowding in, and now he has to play V.I.P. for some low-level tower guy who'll boast to his cronies over beer that he talked Quatre Winner down to the tarmac. A landing Quatre could do blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back._

_Quatre is tempted to twist the shuttle over in a few rolls before the shuttle port comes into visual, but decides against it. It'll show up on radar, and it's not likely to impress them with his skills. Given the tower's response, they'll probably freak and send out the local Naval guard on the grounds that Quatre's lost control and is seconds away from crashing into the dark waters below. So he keeps the shuttle on the narrow, easing up on the speed as the distant tower appears on the horizon. He'll play it straight, and nod politely at the tower's insipid directions._

_It's all part of the role, and sometimes the role isn't always fun._

 

 

 

We'd mutually seemed to decide to drop any mention of the first twelve hours of his visit, and were back to the jibes and dry humor we'd exchanged since his return two years before. So much of our perspectives were similar, a fact made even more apparent by our lengthy discussions about the Ameri-African Conflict of 145, and the Intercolony Disputes of the first thirty years of the colonies. Standing there among the old maps and reprinted news bulletins, with two-century old vid captures replaying in endless loops, I was again astonished by his perceptivity, and his utterly practical approach.

"We are a lot alike," I told him, a propos of nothing.

He raised his eyebrows, and leaned back to stare up at the massive mural of the European Boundary Conflicts of 175. It was the first time Romafeller had taken the world stage, and the original Lord Romafeller was casting a long shadow across the mural's depiction of vicious arguments and bloody skirmishes.

"It's all about results," I continued, feeling awkward. "Not the means."

"Perhaps." He shrugged, and moved away to study a diagram of one of the first mobile suits, designed for colony construction. "But I don't have twenty-nine sisters."

"They're going cheap these days," I said, grinning into my collar when he grunted.

"You're an idiot." He turned from the diagram, walking off without looking back. I rolled my eyes and followed, feeling like I was doing a great deal of that. So much catching up... He stopped in front of a statue of Relena, examining it intently. "Chang told me what your sister—"

"I didn't plan it or ask for it," I said. I think I sounded calm, but I was mostly hoping we could change to a different topic. I was actually contemplating bringing back up the issue of Trowa and Duo, if I hadn't suspected that would be worse. "Anyway, it's for the better."

"Better." Heero looked skeptical, and shook his head, but I couldn't tell whether it was for me, or for the pathetic rendition of Relena, a good four inches taller than she really was. "You and Chang, both too damn proud."

"Oh, and you're Mister Easy-going," I retorted, nettled. "I'm not the one who went back to it," I said, and by the way his back stiffened, he knew exactly what I meant.

Zero, the one thing that would always stand between us, but bind us in ways the other pilots couldn't or wouldn't comprehend. The crowd milled around us, but I ignored them. Heero opened his mouth but I went for the kill, fed up with his smug attitude.

" _You're_  so damn competitive. It just sliced you to ribbons to know someone else could beat it."

"At least I'm not a coward," Heero shot back. He turned to me, his blue eyes deepening into a murky sapphire.

"Don't you dare—"

"Don't try and deny it," he spat, cutting me off. I noticed the crowd was thinning around us; we had to be giving off the sense of two large predators trapped in a small space with a piece of raw meat between us. Heero stepped forward, getting into my space. I held my ground. He growled at me, "Don't you dare say you beat it and let that be the end of it. You never would've gone near it again if I hadn't—"

"Remind me to thank you sometime," I said, letting my voice go cold. "You're the one who always left us to go running off on your own. I suppose I should thank you for that, too?"

"We were not a team, Winner." Heero pulled back, crossing his arms. His tone was almost sulky, and his gaze darted around me. He was looking for an exit. "It was only an alliance for that single purpose."

"Not much of an alliance." I kept my face perfectly neutral, stepping closer. Heero bristled. "You were always the one to run off on your own, only coming back to save the day, and who gives a fuck about the rest of—"

"I see." Heero's expression was calculating. We were only inches apart, whispering in icy tones. "You're pissed because I didn't follow  _your_  orders?"

"I am not—"

"Lie to yourself all you like, Winner." He turned away, and I could see his shoulders slumping, a minute degree, before he straightened. His voice was bitter, and I barely caught his murmured words. "How anyone could resent a goddamn tool, let alone envy it—"

"Because you got to leave!" I burst out, aware some of the nearest people were giving us odd looks. I ignored them. I was shaking with fury. Heero looked at me over his shoulder, his eyes wide. It was the barest sign of his utter shock, but I barreled on, taking it down to a hissed whisper. "When the dust settled, you got to— you got to go somewhere else, choose what you'd do, choose who you'd be, you got to  _leave_."

"Yes. I did." Heero stepped back, lowering his head, and it took the wind out of my sails. I could only stare at him, stunned by my own words and bewildered by his response. "Quatre," he said, in a low voice.

"Fuck off," I snapped, turning on my heel and striding from the Museum, my head held high.

 

 

 

I made it as far as the sculpture garden outside the museum, although why every museum on every colony and country feels it necessary to have sculpture gardens regardless of the museum's theme, I'll never know. I meant to walk farther; my temper would have carried me all the way back to Sanq, but I wasn't sure why—and something kept me there.

But I knew what it was. Heero's stuff was still at my apartment. I didn't want to abandon him, then or ever. I just needed a break. A bit of distance might bury everything I'd said. I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared at some concrete-block pyramid. It was ugly and pointless enough that I imagined the sculptor must have slept with the curator to get a spot in the gardens. I was almost about to laugh at my own sarcasm when a cup of tea appeared under my nose.

"Wha—" I blinked, and turned to see Heero standing beside me. He was sipping a drink of his own, and studiously not looking at me. Truce, I figured, and took the cup. I stared down at it, and the warmth through the container felt like Heero's skin under my fingertips. I had to examine the concrete block pyramid for a long moment before I could force away the unbidden images.

"You hate us," Heero whispered. He didn't look at me, but his hand on the railing was tight. The muscles in his forearm flexed and bunched; it was as though he were afraid he'd fall if he let go.

"That's not true," I replied, just as quietly.

"You don't want us in your life," he continued.

"I never said that. I just... " I shrugged. "It's hard to explain. And I don't hate anyone."

"You do." Heero frowned down at the unsuspecting sculpture below the railing. "And you hate yourself."

My laugh was abrupt enough that it was more of a bark. "And this is news? I've always felt that way."

"Why?" Heero turned a puzzled look to me, and I shook my head.

"If you give me that crap of I have so much to live for, and every wonderful thing and pleasure a person could want or money could buy," I dropped into a more pleasant tone, mocking, but I knew he wasn't fooled, and I didn't want him to be. "I  _will_  shoot you, and unlike Duo, I won't aim for the extremities."

"I don't have a lot," Heero mused. "I don't need a lot. And if you did shoot me, I can count on... " He stared down at his hand, a golden tone against the burnished copper railing. "... Two hands... the people who'd miss me. If that many."

I turned my back on the garden and leaned against the railing. The patio was deserted, which suited me fine.

"I could have your wealth a thousand times over, Quatre," Heero said. "But I'll never be so rich I could afford to end a friendship."

"I didn't end anything," I replied, nettled.

"You've been putting a good effort into it."

"I've been busy in my  _new_  life." I knew the words were cruel, but they were true.

"Why can't... " Heero's voice was almost plaintive, which shocked me. He swallowed hard, and tried again. "Why can't you have both?"

I sighed, and dropped the sarcasm, and the wall of bravado. I turned around and faced the gardens, my gaze following the lines of the sculptures, the arch of greenery shading the walkway. "I don't want my old life, sometimes. Sometimes I want to run as far and as fast as I possibly can... and not be that person anymore."

"The war... " Heero's faint words were barely a question.

"And the money, the title, the responsibility, the burden, the guilt, the memories... " I felt ill. I didn't want to drink the tea; I set it on the railing and idly examined it. The label was blue on white, and the edge of the logo was smeared while printing. "I feel like a fake, Heero. I feel like every time I do something, I'm not good enough, and I'm just pretending I am. I keep waiting for people to catch on... "

"You never caught onto me," he said.

My head came up, and I could only stare at him. His profile was leaner than during the war, the baby fat lost to reveal fine, high cheekbones and a long, thin nose. His shoulders were broader, but the slight breeze whipped his dark brown hair in and out of his eyes. For a moment, he was fifteen, at my side in Sanq, and promising Relena he'd stay with no intention of following through.

"I was trained to be the best at everything I did," he continued. "I was supposed to be the best... and I failed my very first mission. I couldn't even die properly." His lips twisted into a scornful look. "And I met Duo... who's a better mechanic and far better pilot." He leaned back to look at the sky, and I caught a flash of blue as he glanced over at me, under his eyelashes. "Duo makes all that noise still, about me stealing parts from his... suit. And the one thing no one mentions is that if our places had been reversed, Duo wouldn't have had to steal parts from mine. He would've found a way to fix what he had, or would've come up with a modification from whole cloth." Heero shrugged, and paused to sip his drink. "I had to steal. I couldn't, and still can't, be that creative as a mechanic."

"Heero," I said, unsure where he was going with this.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Trowa was also an incredible mechanic. Cool and collected in battle where I was so... well, I wasn't," he concluded, almost wryly. "And a crack shot. I wasn't the best pilot against Duo, and I wasn't the best shot against Trowa. And with you, I wasn't the best strategist. My half-cocked plans and impulsive reactions were... " He shrugged. "They weren't the best. Not even close. And Wufei?"

I waited. Heero set down his cup, and placed his hand on the rail. He frowned, a thin line between his brows, and the metal railing creaked, then screeched abruptly. When Heero lifted his hand, the railing was crimped.

"If I couldn't do that, Wufei would wipe the mat with my ass every time we spar," Heero said. He sounded both impressed and dismayed. "I can't fight like he can. I can't think like you. I can't infiltrate like Trowa, and I still have to refresh my memory on C-4 levels before the Preventers' annual exam where Duo could recite them in his sleep and build bombs with his hands tied behind his back."

"I don't—"

"No, you don't get it," Heero said, but patiently. "I wasn't the best. I could do everything each of you could do, but I couldn't do it as well. And yet... why did people look at me like I was the best? I wasn't. I didn't know who was fighting, or whether there could ever be an end, and I didn't get the politics, and I didn't have the hope and I wasn't fighting for a personal reason or revenge or to make a better world and I didn't... Sometimes I was just waiting for someone to figure it out, and then... "

He ran his finger along the railing, following the grooves of the crimp. Finally he dropped his hand, and stepped back.

"That's why I left," he whispered. "I wanted to find somewhere that I could... " He shrugged.

"Did you?"

He shook his head. "I didn't even know where to start."

"I want... " I exhaled slowly. "I want to feel like... when people look at me, they see me. Not my family name or my back account... or what I did for a year, or the year after that. I want to be known, really known. The kind of thing where you don't have to explain, because... people really see you."

I waited, and Heero didn't respond. I leaned against the railing, crossing my arms, and stared down into the garden below us. The breeze was making the trees sway, and the dappled light softened the edges of the concrete block pyramid into a play of shadows and brightness.

"This girl I met... " I winced, thinking of Felicia. "She told me, college is when we try new things, because we have a safety net. But I've had a safety net almost all my life. I don't want one anymore."

"A safety net, or a cage," Heero murmured.

"Touché," I replied, under my breath. "Doesn't change the fact that I... I want to fail, and be able to fail. I want to let that happen without feeling like I'm going to spend the rest of my life accommodating, atoning for something other people do every day and never... "

Like Heero, I couldn't come up with the rest, so I simply shrugged.

"People could see you," Heero said, and picked up his cup, "a great deal better if you let them."

With that cryptic comment, he walked away, dropping the cup in the trashcan and leaving the museum without a backwards glance. After a few moments, I picked up the tea he'd bought for me, sipped it guiltily despite the fact it had cooled, and followed after him.

 

 

 

I saw Heero off at the train station the next morning. Our conversation was subdued; I was thinking too much about what he'd said, and he let me. At the station, we didn't hug, but we stared at each other for a long time, until he smiled and nodded. He hefted the one duffle bag over his shoulder, and joined the crowd filing into the train, bound for the airport. He didn't look back, but I watched until the train was out of sight.

 

 

 

When I got back to my apartment, I straightened up some, and set out some of my books to study. It wasn't until I decided to change my sheets and do laundry that I discovered he'd left one final gift, a small white envelope. Confused, I opened it and two tickets slid out into my hand: fourth-row, orchestra, dead center, at the city theatrical center. It took a second for the name to sink into my thick skull. Li Ou, the greatest violinist of our age, and I was holding fourth-row tickets... for the June performance.

Who could I possibly invite? I considered Jamie and just as quickly tossed that idea. I simply had never gotten the feeling he'd think an evening downtown, crammed into velvet seats while someone sawed away at a wooden box.

I tapped the tickets against the palm of my hand, then smiled to myself. Grabbing my cell phone, I took a deep breath to settle my nerves, and waited for someone to pick up on the other end.</p


	13. Chapter 13

"Hello?" The voice was soft, feminine, and could be only one person.

My knees sagged, and I leaned against my dresser, even though she couldn't see me.

"Lola?" I heard a sharp intake of breath, and spoke quickly. "Please, don't hang up. I just... I... I wanted to know if you'd go with me to see Li Ou. At the Metro Center. Next month." She didn't say anything, so I kept going. "Not as a, a, date—" I couldn't believe it, I was babbling. "—if you don't want, that's cool, but a friend gave me tickets and I thought you might enjoy it. But if not, that's cool, I under—"

"Li Ou?" Lola sounded hesitant, but I knew that tone. "The violinist?"

"Yeah," and suddenly I was excited. I waved the tickets about as I spoke. "Orchestra, fourth row, right in the middle. He's only playing two shows, and it's the evening one, but if you don't want—"

"I'll go."

"—It to be a date, I just thought you might—"

"Cat... Uh, Quatre." Lola sounded almost amused. "I said, I'll go."

There was a long pause, and I had to mentally rewind.

"Oh." I stared down at the tickets, then blinked. "Oh! Okay. It's June ninth, at eight o'clock, so we should probably be there an hour before... " I considered that, uncertain how soon I'd need to be there if I wasn't going to be expected to hobnob with the social set beforehand.

"The seats are reserved, right?"

"Yeah." I studied the tickets. "Assigned seating."

"Then maybe seven-forty-five?"

"Okay. Seven-forty-five... "

Lola hesitated, and I waited, not sure what she was going to say—perhaps that we should meet there. Just two people who happened to be seated next to each other—

"And we could have dinner beforehand?"

Again, she caught me off-guard, and I had to back up. I nodded, realized she couldn't see me, and was amazed my voice worked.

"Yeah. That offer for Bruno's stands," I said. I didn't know how I'd afford it, but I had a little money left from Iria's gift. Not much, but I could manage.

"Bruno's." Lola laughed, nervously. "Well, we don't have to be that fancy. Or do we? Saturday night, we'd probably have to be all dressed up... "

"Your choice," I said, feeling like I was back on comfortable ground. "Not to, uh, be obnoxious, but I've done these sorts of things before, and not everyone pulls out the pearls. Dress how you want. Up or down."

"I think I'd like to dress up," Lola said, so softly I almost didn't catch it.

"I'll need your help, then," I teased, but as deadpan as I could manage and not sound harsh. "Because I've never really had to dress myself for a fancy occasion."

Lola giggled, and it was a wonderful thing to hear. I thought about asking her if she wanted to get together sooner, but decided not to push my luck.

"So. It's a, a  _thing_ ," I announced. "Fancy dress thing. With food."

"Yeah." Lola's response carried notes of pleasure, and anxiety. "A thing. Cool. Shopping for clothes the weekend before?"

"Sounds great," I told her.

And it did.

 

 

 

The last day of exams, I had the oddest prickling sensation on the back of my neck every time I stepped outside. The walk between buildings wasn't long enough to place it, but I found myself scoping the area. Whatever had me on guard wasn't showing itself, but I still picked seats where I could see all entrances, and had my back to the wall. The feeling would fade indoors, but pick up again once I left each exam hall.

I ran into Lola on campus, and we chatted politely, if a bit distantly. It was almost as though we had to get to know each other again. We didn't hug hello, and she didn't kiss me on the cheek like she always had before, but at least she smiled, and didn't try to punch me. I figured that was an improvement. We confirmed our date for the weekend to go shopping. Once again I refrained from blurting out that if I told anyone at the Metro Center that I was Quatre Winner, they'd let us in even wearing rags. I figured boasting probably wouldn't put her at ease.

Watching her walk away, I felt that sensation again, and it all clicked. I could either let it run for longer, or take the chance that my instincts were right. I dropped my bag, and turned in a circle. A clump of students was leaving the main administration building, and something in that direction had me tensing. I took a deep breath, and shouted.

" _Duo!_ "

A lean shadow disengaged from under the building's overhang, and Duo strolled towards me. He was dressed in boots, black jeans, a green t-shirt, sunglasses, and a smug grin. I rolled my eyes, and he started laughing.

"Man, you are so out of practice," he drawled, coming to stand in front of me. "How've you been? Look like you're not eating enough." He pushed the sunglasses down his nose and squinted at me. "Need more sun, too."

"Says the colony boy," I retorted, and next thing I knew, I had an armful of Duo. We hugged tightly, and his arm remained over my shoulders while I picked up my bag. "Done with school," I said, since I had to start the conversation somewhere. "You're all graduated now?"

"Like hell," he replied. "Got a summer semester, but figured I'd stop in and see how you're doing." Duo smirked.

"Just fine all morning," I informed him. "Eight-fifteen." I had the pleasure of seeing his eyebrows shoot up.

"Eight-ten," he replied, a touch sullen. "Damn. I thought I'd gotten better than that."

"Don't underestimate me just because I'm short," I told him. He glanced up at me across the two-inch height difference, and scowled. I draped my free arm over his shoulder, and hugged him close. "It's good to see you."

"One of us had to show up and congratulate you for surviving your first year in college." He sniffed dramatically. "Our little Quatre, all grown up and failing classes."

"I'm not failing."

"You get straight As?"

"Not exactly," I said, wincing. "I got a B+ in Abstract, and I think that was mostly a pity grade."

Duo guffawed, and I wriggled out of his grasp long enough to punch him in the arm. He yelped and rubbed his arm, mock-glaring.

I poked him in the chest. "Don't insult the host."

"The host going to feed me?" Duo pushed his glasses back up his nose, and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. The move reminded me of Trowa, and I shifted to walk at a more reasonable distance. If Duo noticed—and he probably did; he never missed the little things—he didn't say anything.

"Heero taught me to cook," I replied. "So I can feed you one or two things. Or we can grab something at the Polish deli on the way to my place." I frowned, and looked over Duo. "You come here with nothing?"

"Naw." He grinned slyly at me. "Left everything at your place."

I stopped in my tracks, staring at him.

Duo cracked up, leaning backwards, laughing with his mouth wide open. He dug out one hand to point at me. "Man, you should see your face! Crap, you look like I just gutted you."

"Duo," I protested, and crossed my arms.

"Don't sulk, Quatre," he said, and draped an arm over my shoulder again, pulling me down a little to his height. "I actually just left my bag in one of the temporary student lockers. We can stop by the building... it was one of these big concrete ones with the planters in front... " He frowned, tapping a finger against his chin.

"They're all big concrete ones with planters in front." I sighed. "Did you make note of the name?"

"Wilson." Duo shook his head. "No, Johnson? Erickson?"

"Oh, fuck. Those are all buildings on campus."

Duo flashed me a wicked grin. "It's the one over there," he said, pointing. "I just like seeing you get all huffy."

"I don't recall you giving me this much hassle when we were kids," I informed him, rolling my eyes as he dragged me towards one of the student centers.

"We had more important things to do, then," he replied, shrugging.

 

 

 

"My place," I told him, as we walked up to my apartment building.

"I was warned." He glanced over the tops of his sunglasses at the three junkies arguing on the front steps, and looked at me pointedly.

"Yeah, well. It's cheap, and close to campus." I shrugged, and stopped at the mailbox to pick up my mail, then led the way up to my apartment. Unlocking the door, I ushered him in. "This is it."

I set my bag down on the table, and unpacked my books, setting the ones aside that I'd keep. The rest I'd sell back in a day or two. I puttered around, rinsing my mugs and pulling out a beer for both of us. I was nervous, and I knew it, but I did my best to appear busy.

"Quatre." Duo leaned against the countertop, a slight smile playing at the edges of his lips. "I like it. You done well, man."

I halted in the action of handing him a beer, startled. He took the beer, sipping it, but watching me out of the corner of his eyes.

"Uh... " I stared down at my own beer, and smiled back at him.

Duo grinned, and knocked his bottle's neck against my beer. "Quatre, speechless. That's a day to mark on the calendar."

"Very funny."

"I'm a master of humor, didn't you know?" Duo smirked and moved to sit at the table. "So what kinda things do you do for entertainment around here?"

"Heist cars, mug college students, torch grocery stores," I said, sitting down opposite him. "The usual."

"Unh-hunh. I hear you work at a club, now."

"Yeah... shit, I've got to work tonight, actually. How long are you staying? You can hang with me while I work, but it's pretty boring."

I didn't think I could get out of work at such late notice, but at least it meant I didn't have to get out of plans with Jamie. I was supposed to see him in two nights. I figured if Duo was going to be around, I'd just tell Jamie I had to cancel and I'd see him the next time I had a night off.

"I've got a week," Duo announced, then grinned. "Not planning on staying that long. A day, maybe two, but I won't wear out my welcome. Besides, Relena asked me to swing through Sanq on my way back to school."

"Got an email from her last month," I told him. "One of her send-to-everyone rants."

"Oh, yeah, the Rep from Asia," Duo replied, nodding. "Have you read the news on him? Total asshole."

"He's a politician." I finished off my beer. "Par for the course."

Duo smirked. "And you'd know all about that."

"Yeah." I meant to joke, but I know I sounded serious. "Yeah, I do." I tried to laugh, and Duo smiled, but it was a strained expression. We were quiet for a moment, then Duo asked about my only non-A, and somehow we left the awkward moment behind us.

 

 

 

_"Several messages for you, Director Winner," the young woman says. She hands over an envelope, and Quatre rifles through the papers while she finishes checking him in._

_More than several, he thinks, and gives her a tired smile. It took the airport tower forty-five minutes to get him from the air to the terminal, insisting he follow their directions in a roundabout manner. Quatre stifles a yawn, and reassures himself with the notion of a hot shower._

_"Your room key," the young woman tells him. "Breakfast is in the East Dining Room from seven to ten, or you can fill out the... "_

_Room service form, yeah, yeah, Quatre thinks, not really listening. It's six hours earlier by the clock, but his body is convinced it's time to sit down with a drink and dinner, put up his feet, and open his mouth in his daily evening rant about the idiots._

_But no idiots today, Quatre thinks, and flashes the young woman a brilliant smile. She's surprised, blinking like a rabbit caught in headlights, and smiles back, shyly._

_Quatre picks up his bags, waves away the hotel employees springing to his aid, and heads off to find his room._

 

 

 

Duo ended up pitching in and helping clean up after the club closed, which didn't surprise me. He was getting antsy sitting at the bar, being fed alcohol thanks to Fred, who seemed to take a shine to Duo. Maybe it was the way Duo leaned against the bar, like he owned it, or the bit of an edge in his laugh, or possibly the graceful way he moved across the dance floor, braid whipping behind him like a scorpion's tail.

The girls sure paid attention. At one point I thought the band had to be far worse than I'd estimated, because not a single groupie had tried to weasel past me to the band's area in the basement. Del came by and I said as much, and he jerked his head towards the dance floor.

"Naw, all the groupies are too busy drooling over some guy." Del sighed, a long-suffering expression. "If I got out on that dance floor, I'd be looking like that stupid experiment with frogs and electricity. Y'know, where they make the limbs go all jumpy?"

"Yeah, rings a bell," I said. I watched the band's roadies checking over their repair of a guitar string, and shrugged. "But some people just have it."

"That guy does, or so the girlies think." Del had laughed, and gone on his way.

So I worked, while Duo entertained the masses, and when the doors closed, Duo helped me sweep up and even lent a hand to the doormen carrying out the last of the speakers to the band's truck. We chatted with Del and Melissa, did a few shots with the crew, and waved our goodbyes over our shoulders without looking back.

Duo paused on the street corner, as though seeing it for the first time. We'd walked past here on the way to my apartment from campus, and again to come to work, so it was new but not unfamiliar. I stopped, waiting for him to explain.

"Actually," he said, "it does fit you."

"What does?"

"City life," Duo said. He opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. He shrugged, turning towards my apartment building without hesitation.

We were quiet for a half-block, and Duo looked over at me. I'd been considering the evening, and all the time I'd spent watching Duo socialize. I could tell by the lines of exhaustion on his face that the night had taken a great deal out of him, but old habits die hard, sometimes. I still struggled with the impulse to smile politely and make small talk when I worked the ticket counter; it was no surprise Duo would play the sly jester for an audience.

"You danced with a lot of people, tonight," I said, unable to think of what else to say. There was something heavy, moving between us, that hadn't been there before, and I wasn't sure what it was. Perhaps the three shots of vodka at the bar before we left wasn't the best idea.

"I like to dance." Duo shrugged. "Would've gotten a few girls' numbers, but I—m not in town long enough." He waggled his eyebrows at me.

I couldn't stop myself. I blurted out the words even as they formed in my mind. "But you and Trowa—"

"Me and... " Duo faltered, and turned to face me, puzzled. "What about us?"

Oh, I thought, open relationship. I shook my head, embarrassed. "Nothing." I started walking, but Duo caught me by the elbow, and moved to stand in front of me.

"What about us?"

"You're... " I backed up, and tried to look casual. Instead, I felt like punching him. Trowa deserved commitment, not another love where the person didn't care or notice or talk—

"I'm  _what_ ," Duo prompted. He dropped his hands to hang loosely at his sides. His feet were braced. I recognized the sign of growing belligerence.

"You're a couple," I said.

Duo blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, then surprised me by sighing deeply and stalking off. I was left staring at the spot he'd vacated, and it took a moment for me to register his reaction. In three long strides, I caught up with him, and it was my turn to catch him by the arm.

"I thought—"

"We're not a couple," Duo spat, and jerked his arm away from me. "We just... hung out a few times... " Duo stopped, and gave me a suspicious look. "Who told you we were a couple?"

"Heero." I didn't look Duo in the eye; the annoyance rolling off him was enough to make me want to step back. "At Relena's New Year's party, he said you were in the library, or study? Something like—"

"That was him?" Duo's face went scarlet in two seconds flat, and he groaned. "We were just  _hugging_. Damn it. Heero acted weird the rest of that party and I couldn't pry out of him what was up, and then the next time I see him he's all cool and casual... If I didn't know better, I would've thought... "

Duo scowled, cutting off his own words, and started walking again. I was starting to feel like a damn yo-yo. Start, stop, start, stop. Fortunately we were only a block from my place; with all these stops, we might make it in another hour.

"Thought what?" I couldn't help but ask, poking a finger against a wound I couldn't see, hadn't known. The question was enough to let me know the injury was there, though—and that it was a bad one.

"I figured he'd started seeing someone." Duo waved a hand, then hunched his shoulders again, glaring at nothing in particular. "He doesn't care now. Y'know, he's like... he's cool. As in... almost cold." He glanced at me from under his eyelashes. "How was he, when he visited?"

"Fine. We... talked about the war, mostly. And argued," I answered, picking my words carefully. "Worked some stuff out."

Duo nodded, and that line between his brows let me know he was considering something intensely. His expression would be inscrutable to a stranger, but to me, that single line spoke volumes.

"Me 'n Trowa," Duo started. He hunched his shoulders, and didn't look at me while we enter my building and tread the stairs on cat-soft feet. We glided down the hallway like two shadows. "Just so you know, it didn't work."

"I'm sorry," I said, and I was surprised to find I mean it.

"It was just too weird, I think," Duo confessed. "Maybe we've been friends for too long." When I turn the overhead light on, he snaps it off quicker than I can react. "Leave it," he whispered. "I had enough of bright lights at the club."

I nodded, and flipped on the bathroom light, closing the door to all but a few inches. "That okay? I'll make tea."

"Thought you liked coffee."

"I do. But tea's easier without a coffee pot." I poured water into the pot, and set it on the stove. Duo sat down at the table. He leaned on his elbows, and stared across the apartment. It reminded me of Heero, and I turned away, uncomfortable.

"I guess he is seeing someone," Duo said, and his voice was stronger, clearer. "That would explain a lot. You'd think the bastard would at least tell one of us." Duo perked up, giving me a hopeful look. "Heero say anything to you?"

"About seeing someone?" I shook my head, not really considering my words before I spoke. "No, but I'd doubt he is." I realized my mistake a second too late, and covered by pouring the hot water into the cups. Duo was quiet for several minutes, but I had my composure by the time I turned around to hand him a mug.

Duo's eyes were hard, and glittering. He was staring at me in that almost casual way he had; it was a look that would reduce most people to garbled confessions. It didn't work on me, most of the time. But then, usually I wasn't sitting across from the person who'd once been in love with the person I'd... I didn't know what to call the situation, what had happened with Heero. I hoped I didn't have to. I studiously poured milk and cream into my tea, and pretended like I didn't notice Duo's contemplative danger.

"I saw him two weeks ago," Duo mused. "Night and day from when I saw him last... "

"Oh?" I asked, only because if I didn't, the game would be up. It probably was by that point, but I wasn't going to let that stop me from faking for as long as I could. Duo had scented the quarry.

"Yeah. He was more content," Duo said. "Just... I wish I knew what you did, so I could've done it a long time ago." He managed a grin, and I did my best to smile back, shrugging nonchalantly.

"It wasn't anything that big," I tell him. And yet, it was everything, in those dark hours, I added, but I couldn't admit that. Not to him, not to me.

"Well, does explain a lot," Duo replied, leaning back to stretch broadly. "No wonder he kept mentioning Trowa when we'd talk." He chuckled. "And here I figured Heero'd finally found... " Duo's smile widened, then froze.

I kept my head down.

"Quatre," Duo said, in a low, breathless whisper. "You know something. There's something you're not telling me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Look at me," Duo ordered. "Look me in the eye and say that."

I raised my head, looked at him, and couldn't say a damn thing.

"No... " Duo's face was pale, and his hands shook around the mug. "He avoided me, then he visits you, and now he's all... Something happened. Between you two, when he was here, something happened... something you said, or did—"

"Duo," I finally said, growing impatient with his insistence. I didn't want to talk about it, and I cast about for the best strategy to cut him off at the pass. "We five are friends, but what Heero and I discussed is our business. If he didn't choose to make it known to you, I'll respect that, and therefore I won't, either."

Duo narrowed his eyes, silent. I kept my gaze steady, but my heartbeat was thrumming wildly in my chest. I wanted to blink, look away. Instead I returned his stare, measure for measure.

"Something you did got him over me," Duo accused, and somehow it was ten times worse for the fact that he said it so flatly. "Something... " His eyes widened. "Did you sleep with Heero?"

"I only have one bed," I parried.

"Quatre," Duo countered, angrily, but still in that soft voice. "Don't lie to me. I wouldn't to you. Don't lie to me."

"Don't ask me, then." I closed my eyes, unwilling to look at him for a moment longer. "You're not ready to hear the answer."

"Like hell I am!" Duo shot up from his chair, and his fist slammed down on the table. His mug was jostled, splashing tea across the wood. "You did, damn it, you slept with Heero! What the fuck were you—"

"You have no claim on Heero anymore," I shouted back. "If you ever did, you haven't for a long time, so don't give me any shit."

"I can too give you shit!" Duo shook his head hard enough to make his braid fly around behind him. "How the fuck could you do that to me? How could you possibly—"

"HE IS NOT YOURS," I yelled, coming to my feet. "How dare you act like  _I'm_  the guilty party? We're adults. We're not seeing anyone. What we do on our own time is  _none of your business_."

"It's my business," Duo hollered back. "It's sure as hell my business!"

My hands were balled into fists, and I didn't care. "On what grounds?"

"Because I'm in love with him, you bastard!" Duo's face squeezed up, contorting painfully. "How could you just fuck him and send him back and—"

"It wasn't like that," I retorted, still angry. "It wasn't cheap."

"You get everything!" Duo slammed his fists down on the table a second time, and the mug fell over. Tea went everywhere. Neither of us moved. Duo was panting, leaning over the table, his voice a low growl. "You had Trowa and tossed him away. And now you had Heero, and you send him away, too. Is there anything you get that you don't throw away?"

"Go to hell," I spat. "I never  _had_  Trowa. I sure as hell never would've thrown him away if I'd known how he felt. And Heero wasn't mine, and never will be, and the only thing that matters here is that Heero isn't  _yours_ , either. It's over, it's done, and he's not coming back to you!"

"Because of you! You had him already!"

"He's not some prize in a cereal box, Duo!" I threw my hands up and stalked off, rather than punch Duo. I was furious, but I didn't want to lose my best friend. I just wanted to slam his head against the wall until he saw reason, or passed out and shut the hell up. "You don't have any right to care what he does. You've been dating other people for two years, now—"

"So?"

"So bloody fucking hell, Duo, if you feel this way about Heero sleeping with me, how the  _fuck_  do you think he's felt about you being with  _other_  people?"

"I didn't say it was rational," Duo retorted. "And he could sleep with twenty people but that's not the point. He slept with  _you_."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Everything you want, you get," Duo cried. He pointed at the apartment, at the city out the window, at me. "It all comes so easy to you. Including the one person I've ever loved, and he never came to me, he never wanted me enough to—" Duo broke off, and shoved a hand into his mouth for several minutes. When he lowered his hand, he was calmer, but no less angry. "You bastard. You had him first. You get  _everything_."

"No, I don't." I laughed, bitterly. "You have no idea how ironic that is, because I don't get a damn thing." I shook my head before he could speak. "Money just isn't enough. Money isn't going to make Trowa come back, and it wouldn't make Heero stay."

"Money would—"

"Money doesn't do fucking jack but pay bills and put food on the table and it sure as hell doesn't make people love you unless you really get off on the idea of everyone around you always agreeing with you, Duo!"

I was screaming at the top of my lungs, and Duo looked almost scared. I was breathing heavily, as if I'd just run ten miles. I had to stare out the window to keep from smashing my fist into the wall.

"Trowa walked out of here with the intention of going to see you, to ask you out," I informed Duo, a bit more evenly. "And Heero... yeah, well. We fucked." I laughed, a sharp barking sound. "But it was  _your_  name he called the whole time."

The room was perfectly silent. Neither of us moved, and I watched the neon sign over the Polish Deli on the corner. It flickered, and went on. Four in the morning, and Joseph was getting the place ready for the next day.

"So, you see, Duo, I don't get everything. I get the consolation prize. Money." I shrugged. "But what I really want, I don't get either. So don't give me any crap. I can give myself the guilt trip on my own, just fine."

"I wanted him to choose me," Duo said, in a faltering whisper. "And he wouldn't. But I couldn't tell him... I wanted to be the big guy, y'know, the honorable one, and tell him if Relena would make him happy, I'd let him go. And I couldn't do that, either. But he still didn't choose me."

"And he didn't choose me, either," I replied, my gaze fixed on the lights coming on in the businesses down the street. A newspaper van rolled past, and someone threw out a bundle onto the corner. "So we're both losers."

"Three times over," Duo shot back, coldly. I braced myself, staring down at the early morning streets. I heard a rustle, and knew he'd picked up his bag, thrown it over his shoulder. "You lost Trowa, and Heero, and now you're losing me."

"One question, Duo," I called out, before he could put his hand on the doorknob. "Just one question, answer honestly and then we'll be through."

He hesitated, but his answer still came quickly enough to give me hope. "Fine," he ground out. "Ask."

"What—" is the real reason you're so angry, I was about to say, but I stopped and suddenly the words weren't what I'd planned. "What will it take for you to forgive me?"

Duo laughed, a little breathlessly. "The secret of how to forgive myself, Quatre."

The door shut behind him, a whisper of goodbye as hollow as my own heart.

 

 

  

Somehow I managed to make it through the next day. When I met Jamie for coffee at the local shop, I smiled politely and nodded and kept up my end of the conversation, though minimally.

He stopped, and gave me a hard look. "Quatre, you... " He sighed, and leaned his cheek on his fist. "You upset about something?"

"I lost my best friend last night," I said, woodenly. I blinked, hearing the words. Where the hell had my diplomatic skills gone, anyway? It was like something just blew out my circuits for choosing my words carefully.

"Oh." Jamie was quiet, stirring his coffee. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"You want to be alone, maybe?"

"I don't know."

Jamie nodded, and was quiet for several minutes. I thought of twenty things to say, to distract him, and dismissed each of them. I couldn't muster the energy to care. Even with Duo so mad at me, even with me knowing I should call Heero and tell him, even with all the hundred things I'd done wrong in the past year, I knew the simple truth. If one of the other pilots walked through that door and I had the choice of picking their lives versus Jamie's, I wouldn't hesitate. Duo could brand me an enemy for the rest of my life, and I'd still pick him over Jamie.

It meant I couldn't say anything to Jamie, and I felt completely alone. Even a single word, and in this new lack of diplomacy, I'd risk hurting one who'd never done me wrong so far, by showing him how he could never be that to me. He'd never get into my heart that far. No one would. There were four people on the planet, in the universe, who could be that to me, and one by one I had knocked them down and discounted them.

"I fought for the Alliance," Jamie said, softly. "In my squad, only six of us made it out alive at the end of the war. Every person you lose takes a chunk out of you. Losing someone who's still alive... that's different." He leaned in close enough to brush his hand over mine, and his gray eyes were piercing. "If your friend is still alive, you've got a chance to fix it."

Nice platitude, I thought, bitterly, and shook my head.

"Okay," Jamie said, seeing something in my face, or maybe he was just giving up. He checked his watch. "I'm gonna go watch my sister's band practice. You figure out what you want, and I'll give it if I can, but I can't do much if you won't talk to me."

"I can't," I whispered. "I've told you what I can, and the rest... "

"We all have secrets," he agreed. "But... well, never mind. I'll see you later."

I didn't watch as he left the café.


	14. Chapter 14

"Purple, or blue." Lola held up the two bow ties, and gave them a perplexed look. "Green?"

"You're wearing green," I said, from where I lounged on the chairs some kind soul had placed for us members of the species lacking the female shopping gene. Lola had tried on at least nineteen dresses. More, possibly, and she'd ended up deciding on the first dress she'd pick, of the entire bunch. There was a female logic there, but I couldn't follow it. I propped my chin on my fist and smiled lazily at her. "Are we supposed to match?"

"I don't know," she replied, and pouted a little. "You're... you did all sorts of stuff like this... before."

"Yeah." I shrugged, and twisted in the chair to stretch out my legs. "But I never had a date for those things, and I don't think matching with your bodyguards is really a requirement."

"Oh." Lola nodded absently, still reviewing the bowties. One of the clerks approached, and Lola turned to the young man with an exasperated sigh. "Purple, green, blue, and I don't know which," she declared. "He's no help!"

The clerk looked at me, and I shrugged.

"What's the occasion, miss? If it's semi-formal, or formal, it makes a difference."

"I'm wearing a full-length gown," Lola said, and I noticed her hands shook a bit as she said it. It dawned on me that quite possibly the only other time in her life she'd risked exposure to such grandeur might have been a high school prom.

"Formal." The clerk smiled, and took the bowties away from Lola, handing her a black silk bowtie. "Black. You can't go wrong with black."

"It's not too boring?" Lola stared at the small plastic case in disbelief. Then she frowned, turning to me and waving the box at me. "Can you tie a real bow-tie? This is a real—"

I grinned at her, and nodded.

"Oh." Lola sighed, her eyebrows furrowed, and pursed her lips, staring at the box again. "Right. Right. Okay!" She shoved the bowtie at the clerk. "He's getting that. And the suit hanging over there. And the shoes—"

"I'm wearing my boots."

"You should wear shiny shoes," she said.

"I'll shine my boots," I promised her.

I wasn't sure why I insisted—space only knew I'd worn shiny shoes that pinched my feet enough, in the past—and perhaps that was the reason alone for rebelling. But something in the past week had changed, I supposed. The feeling of being adrift, without Trowa, or Heero, or Duo, made me watch my surroundings with a heightened suspicion. Almost paranoid, when I paused to admit it. I wasn't sure why; it's not like they'd been there all along and now were gone. But the fact was that although I knew they could count on me, I'd never said as much to them, and I wasn't sure I could still rely on them to watch my back, after all the ways I'd screwed up.

And I  _had_  screwed up. There was no doubt about that. Sleeping with Heero—even with all the excuses of 'we were drunk,' or 'we can do what we want,' or 'it was a one-time thing,' were... well, they were ways to avoid the truth. And ever since Zero, I could do a number of things, but none of them included hiding from the truth, no matter how long or how hard I worked at it. Eventually it would roll back around and stand in front of me, taunting me with the hard facts of the matter.

I'd slept with Heero—somewhere, deep down—to get back at Duo and Trowa. Oh, there was a good bit of doing it for Heero, too; I wasn't a fool. I knew that was true, as well. And I knew I'd been lucky; if Heero had come to his senses in the morning and realized it was a bad idea, I wouldn't have survived just the two-foot stretch to get to my gun to defend myself.

Nothing changed the utter hypocrisy of what I'd said to Duo.

_He's not yours, and he'll never be again._

Which wasn't true in the least—Heero's actions in my bed, every word, every look, every plea—said nothing more than that he was Duo's, heart and soul, and would never lose that longing. And my words were doubly cruel, for being so hypocritical. I wanted Heero—and Duo—to be happy—either with each other, or alone, or with someone else. But I knew Duo, despite all his casual airs, wouldn't be happy without Heero for a long time to come. And Heero, for all he tried to put his desires behind him, had shown he wouldn't be happy without one of his loves, either.

Nothing changed the fact that I'd been spiteful. Then, however drunk and unaware, and later, to Duo...

"Quatre?" Lola waved a hand in front of my face. "Would you... like to get some lunch, maybe?"

"Yeah," I said, standing up from the chair and accepting the bags she handed me. Her green gown was over her arm, sheathed in plastic, and she smoothed the plastic a few times. "It's gorgeous," I told her. "You'll knock them all off their feet."

"This a special event?" The clerk smiled at us, and accepted the cash I gave him for the bowtie and suit.

"We're going to see Li Ou at the Metropolitan Center, next week," Lola said. For a second, she sounded like a little girl, boasting of an expected treat. It wasn't a pathetic thing, but something that made me feel warm, to know I'd helped her feel that way. It was pretty damn cool, actually.

It didn't quite make up for the look on Duo's face when he'd left, but I figured I had to start somewhere. At least I could make someone happy, even if I was now just pretending to have the money I'd once had. Even the mockery of wealth was playing more of the same game: letting money bring the happiness I'd told Duo I couldn't get. No, not to me, maybe, but if I could use it to make someone else happy, that would suffice.

We paid for our purchases and left. I held out my arm for Lola as we left the store, stepping into the mall's broad walkways. She paused to check the window, murmuring something about a pair of shoes, and I nodded absently, my gaze rolling over the store's interior. A man in blue jeans and a black jacket was talking to the clerk, who made a negative gesture. The clerk looked nervous, too. I wondered what that was about, but Lola was already pulling me away, towards the mall's restaurant.

I needed to figure out how to resolve things with the other pilots. The feeling of not having them as part of my world was starting to make me suspect everything around me. I smiled at Lola's questioning look, and followed her through the mall.

 

 

 

I debated for a long time while dressing. Take the gun, leave the gun, take the gun, leave the gun. I was used to carrying it to and from work, and leaving it in my locker at work. I had no problem ignoring the campus regulations and carrying it on campus, concealed, either. But going to the Metro Center, and dinner, seemed a bit of overkill; yet I couldn't imagine not having the comfortable weight at the small of my back.

Finally I slipped it into the holster, and straightened the jacket. Damn. It showed, thanks to the coat's smooth fit across my back and around the hips. Well, that would never do.

I put the gun back under my pillow, pulled on my shined but still beat-up boots, adjusted the bowtie one more time, and left to get Lola.

She was waiting in the front room of her boarding house, and it looked like she'd been ready to chew her nails. Her red hair was dyed a more somber auburn, and the green dress complemented her skin tone, a slick sheath dress clinging to all her curves. It was gorgeous, but what took my breath away was the look of both relief and delight when I knocked on the door.

"Let's go," she whispered, grabbing the shawl that came with the dress, and a small clutch purse. "My housemates have been lying in wait all afternoon."

I laughed and escorted her down to the side walk, just as the front door was thrown open and four women fell out. They hollered encouraging things to Lola, two of them whistling loudly at both of us. I took Lola by the hand, spinning her, then bowed formally and tucked her under my arm.

"Show-off," she said, but she looked pleased. A light blush pinked her cheeks.

"I'm entitled," I said. "I'm suffering through wearing a suit again."

"It looks good." She looked me up and down, and grinned widely. "I did good."

"Yeah, you did," I assured her.

 

 

 

Lola looked over the menu, pursed her lips thoughtfully, and dropped the menu on the table.

"I have no idea what to get," she said. "It all looks good."

I grinned, and when the waiter came, I ordered a selection of appetizers and four flights of wine—in red, and white—for each of us. I talked the waiter into getting the chef to do a sampler plate for us, as well. And I did it all in Italian, which had Lola giving me the goofiest look. I tried to ignore her, but she kept bumping me under the table with her foot.

"You're like... all fancy an' stuff," she hissed, leaning over the table so no one else could hear her. "Just what are we going to be eating, anyway?"

"Monkey brain p—té, ostrich, smoked duck, beef's tongue... "

"No way! Quatre Winner, you're joking." Lola's eyes were round, just like her mouth. A perfect red O.

"Me?" I gave her a lazy smile, and winked.

Her eyes narrowed. "You  _are_  joking."

"Maybe a little." I leaned forward and tapped her on the nose. "But only about the monkey brains."

 

 

 

Somehow, we ended up in a full critique over dinner, of the last major construction project I'd done with Winner Conglomerate. Lola had definite ideas about where we'd gone wrong, from an engineering point of view, and it was quite fascinating—and a bit surreal—to watch such an elegant woman testing every dish while rattling on about structural algorithms and balanced density and equations for engineering differentials.

The conversation continued through dinner, into dessert, and out into the streets. We had a two-block walk to the Metropolitan Center, and I produced the tickets to the man at the door. He tore them in half, and I presented both to Lola, who reviewed them carefully before tucking them away in her small purse.

We settled into our seats, and she adjusted her shawl for a moment before sitting back with a thoughtful expression.

"What?" I frowned. "You're staring at me."

"You're... I like you better as Quatre," she told me, and nodded firmly. "You're not... it doesn't feel like you're hiding, now. I don't feel like I have to spend all my time digging you out of somewhere. It's not so much  _work_."

"I didn't realize I was that difficult to be around," I muttered, a bit sullenly.

"I don't mean that," she whispered, and her hand seemed to find its way into mine without any thought on either of our parts. "Just that... it feels like now I really could ask you anything, and you'd tell me. So I don't have to ask."

"I'm not sure that makes sense," I teased, but it did. "Must be a girl thing."

Li Ou walked out to resounding cheers at that point, but I did catch Lola rolling her eyes. We stood with the rest of the crowd to applaud, then settled down to hear the opening strains of a violin arrangement of Flight of the Bumblebees.

 

 

 

"Wow," Lola said, fanning herself with her shawl. The crowds were thinning around us, and I risked putting an arm around her waist. I didn't feel turned on, and I didn't feel like I wanted to kiss her, though I figured the evening had been romantic enough to warrant that kind of ending. It was more of a comfortable thing, and somewhere inside me I realized she'd managed to become a friend while I'd been looking the other way.

"I'm glad I called you," I said, spontaneously. "I've been a bastard, and I know it, but I've also been stupid. I missed hanging out with you. I guess it took hanging out with you again to realize I had."

"I always knew you were kinda slow," Lola replied. She put her arm around my waist, and leaned her head on my shoulder. "My feet hurt."

"And you wanted me to wear shiny shoes, too?"

"So we could commiserate."

"Hah." I grinned, and hugged her casually, as we strolled along the late night sidewalks. In the windows of the darkened shops, we made quite a pair. "So, anyway. I'm glad you agreed to come."

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Lola admitted, softly. "I've never... y'know, I always figured I'd get a job working for the state, doing civil engineering, and just going to college would be such a move up from where I came from. But then to see there's so much more above me... "

"Is that bad?"

"No." Lola leaned back to look at the sky. "I like this city. I think I'll stay here. It's home. But it's good to have memories of pretending to be rich, for one night."

"I've never enjoyed being rich, before," I said, and I could feel her giving me a startled look. "It was just something to tolerate, and it came with so many burdens and responsibilities. It was always just there, one more thing to be used."

"Money is there to be spent," Lola said, crisply. "It's all a matter of what you spend it on."

"Then I've realized I like spending it on friends," I said.

"Is that what we are?" Lola smiled, her eyebrows raised. She looked hopeful. "Friends?"

"If you'll have me as one," I said.

She pretended to think about it, and shrugged. "Oh, I'll see if I can pencil you into my schedule." When she shook her head, her dark hair floated around her face, and she grinned impishly. "I'll let my secretary know."

"Assistant," I corrected. "They're called assistants now."

Lola laughed, and I was too busy smiling down at her, enjoying the easy camaraderie we had. It was completely different from what I'd had with the Maganacs, or the other pilots; perhaps the closest was the way Relena and I would sometimes tease each other, but that was rare given our respective schedules and how little I ever saw Relena in person.

Lola was far more grounded, though, I decided. Pragmatic, but romantic. Whomever she eventually married would probably have to be good at fixing water pipes and know to bring her flowers, if he wanted to catch her heart.

"Quatre Winner," a deep voice said, and I looked up to see a man stepping from the alleyway. "If you would come with us, please."

I didn't hesitate. I stepped forward between Lola and the man. One quick punch and the man reeled backwards. Turning, I grabbed Lola by the wrist and jerked her backwards.

"Qua—" Lola's shriek was cut off—she'd shut her mouth to focus on running.

We bolted back towards the corner, skidding to a halt when a dark van pulled up. I yanked her sideways and we took off in the opposite direction of the van. It had to pull up and around to come back, giving us a few spare moments.

I pulled my cell phone from my inner pocket, and shoved it into her hand.

"Call pound-seven," I yelled.

At the corner, Lola halted, and I gave her an angry look. The van was gaining on us. She kicked off her heels, hiked up her dress, and took off down the sidewalk, tossing her head at me. She still clutched the cell phone, but seemed intent on leading me through the city maze.

"This way," she shouted over her shoulder, and ducked down an alley.

"What are you—" I had little breath, too busy keeping sight of her bare feet, flashing past broken bottles and jumping dirty puddles in the alley. The van had stopped on the street. Pounding feet were gaining on us.

"My city," she retorted, and put on a burst of speed.

We came flying out of the alleyway, back onto the sidewalk. I realized we were only a block from the Metropolitan Center, and glanced behind us. Those men looked determined. I knew their kind. It was either now, or the next time my guard was down, I realized.

"Call pound-seven," I said. Lola was panting, getting winded. "Ask for Nataku."

"Nataku?" Lola jerked her head at the corner, and I followed her, taking a right. The men shouted behind us.

"Tell him it's Code Zero Four," I yelled. "Zero Four, got that?"

"Yeah, but—" Lola nearly twisted in place, as I came to a halt.

"Go!" I turned to wait for the men heading towards me. " _Go!_ "

Lola shrieked in frustration, but ran. Her bare feet echoed on the street. One of the men lifted a gun, aiming for Lola's retreating figure. I launched myself forward and crossed the twenty feet in half a second. He pulled the trigger just as I slammed into his hand. The shot went wild. Broken glass sounded from over our heads.

I risked a quick glance down the street. Lola was gone, off into the city she knew so well. Two of the men took off after her. I couldn't move to stop them before a strong fist came up, slamming into my gut. The air exploded from my diaphragm in a sharp whoosh, and I fell to my knees, blinded. A second fist slammed into the back of my head, and I hit the ground, out cold.

 

 

 

I wasn't out for long, but I kept my eyes closed, listening. The van was moving, and the sounds echoed like a bridge, then the wheels rumbled over tarmac. We rolled to a halt several times at stoplights or stop signs, turning until I'd lost count, despite my best efforts.

My eyes were covered, my hands arms bound behind my back. My legs were free, I thought at first, until I realized there were shackles around my ankles. I had no idea how long I'd been in the van. I could only hope Lola knew the city better, and had lost the goons. If anyone could, I figured, she could. If my friendship with Duo had taught me anything, it was that kids with a full access to a city invariably learned all its boltholes and hidden passages. I wasn't that familiar with Lola's history, but I hoped I'd guessed right.

The van came to a stop and the engine cut off. I was hauled to my feet and dragged from the van. I had to shuffle to keep up with the hands on my arms, half-dragging me forward. I counted the paces: almost ninety, with several stops to unlock doors. Then I was shoved forward, and instinctively went down on my knees rather than fall face-first into something I couldn't see.

A thick hand grabbed the back of my jacket, lifting me up, turning me around, and throwing me backwards onto a chair. Within seconds, two or three hands had me securely fastened with electrical tape of some kind. The blindfold was removed.

The room was dim, the light from a dirty lamp sitting on a desk and the blue of a vidphone screen. The room looked like an apartment bedroom in the worse parts of town, and easily three hundred years old. The floors were wooden, and there was wainscoting on the walls. It was incongruous to see such an architectural detail, but given that I was wearing a suit and bowtie and duct-taped to a wooden chair, the odd formality of the old room seemed fitting.

"Quatre Winner," one of the men said, sitting casually on the edge of the desk. He raised one leg, turning sideways, and leaned his elbow on his knee. "This has been a long time coming."

Which could mean any of a number of things, I thought, and kept silent.

"Gundam Pilot Zero Four," he continued, and grinned. He was a rough-looking man, with a chipped front tooth that glinted in the lamplight, until I realized it was capped with silver. His dark hair was thick and black; he spoke with a Colonial accent. "Never thought we'd actually find you."

"You did," I said, calmly.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, laughing.

One of the other men moved, from where he stood by the wall. "Guess your daughter was right," the man said.

I glanced at the second man, suspicious, and the first man actually brushed his knuckles against his coat, as if polishing something. He grinned widely.

"Yeah, she's pretty smart." The man leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbow, and grinned widely. "I'm First Sergeant T, to you. That's Private L, and Staff Sergeant S." He pointed at two other men, who stepped from the shadows. Neither saluted, but I half-expected them to. T chuckled, and checked his watch. "Hm, another two hours, I think."

A pinprick to the back of my shoulder caught me off-guard. The room swam for a second, and then went dark.

 

 

 

When I woke up, my body was on fire and my mouth was dry; a tape gag across my mouth made it hard to move my jaw too much. I swallowed convulsively, my throat beyond dry to the point of utterly parched. I couldn't get enough saliva going. I was still taped to the chair, and the most I could move was a half-inch in either direction. I forced myself to relax. I wasn't going anywhere, unless I came up with some brilliant idea in the meantime. My head felt too thick and fuzzy for any brilliant ideas, unfortunately.

The room was pitch dark; even after several minutes and my eyes adjusting, I couldn't see anything. It was disconcerting, but no worse than I'd experienced during training. It certainly didn't instill panic, but then, those men might have expected me to keep my cool. I considered yelling, and dismissed the idea. I'd stoop to some lows, but not that one.

I counted to five hundred before the door opened, a sliver of light that blinded me. When I could see again, the desk lamp was on, and the vidphone was lit. T was dialing a number, his back to me, and S was by the door.

"Victoria Winner," T said. "It's concerning her brother, Quatre Winner."

"Please hold," the man's voice said, and the screen was still for a long moment, showing the WIC logo. I was startled; usually someone wouldn't be put right through. But if Lola had managed to get through to Wufei, I could only hope he'd cover all the bases.

"The nature of your call?"

The man's face was impassive, but confused. I couldn't blame him. I didn't imagine the lighting in the room was enough to show our end of the vidphone conversation. T clicked on a flashlight, and shone it on me. I squinted against the light.

"Meet Quatre Raberba Winner," T said, in a level voice.

"Oh... " The obscenity was just below audible level. T laughed softly and the flashlight clicked off. The assistant closed his mouth, regaining his professional demeanor. "Transferring you now, sir."

T shrugged at S, who shook his head. I blinked a few times, trying to get my bearings. The flashlight's radiance was bouncing around on my burnt retinas, creating bright afterglows.

"Victoria Winner speaking," my sister's crisp voice announced. "I understand you...  _Quatre_ ," she murmured, startled.

I looked at the vidphone, and nodded. Victoria's expression hardened. If she had warning, even I couldn't see signs of it. She was known for being a hard-ass in the business world; it would be utterly out of character for her to break down on seeing me taped to a wooden chair.

"We have unfinished business, Ms. Winner," T told her. "Three years ago, Winner International Conglomerate paid off a number of former Alliance officers to keep the secret of a certain young man who had the stupidity to announce his name to a colony before destroying it."

"And?" Victoria's voice was even. She didn't flinch.

"You forgot about the enlisted men," T said, leaning forward into the screen. "There's twenty-seven of us who were there, who survived the war. We want our share of the hush money, too. We're not greedy. Same as you paid the officers. Two hundred thousand credits each, and your brother is returned, safe and sound."

"How long do I have?" Victoria glanced down. She seemed to be writing something, perhaps making notes. "Not including the enlisted men was an oversight. There's no reason to threaten my brother," she said, in a soothing tone. "Where do I send the money?"

T laughed, a barking sound. "I knew you were a reasonable woman. We'll be transmitting an account number, and we'll sort the amount from there."

"Understood." Victoria nodded, not looking up. "Send the account through now, and I'll confirm the transfer personally."

I blinked, stunned at her acquiescence, but even more stunned by the fact that WIC had paid off anyone to whom I'd introduced myself during that hellish time. It was a foggy memory to me, lost in the haze of Zero's embrace, but I'd never actually considered asking whether it had been real. Had I truly told the colony my name and intention? Victoria's reaction indicated that not only that I had, but that my sisters had been fully aware. Just how much had they paid and risked, to keep me—and our family name—safe and out of public suspicion about my status as a Gundam pilot?

"Four hours," T said. He punched in a series of numbers. "We get the confirmation in four hours, and your brother will come back in one piece."

Something moved behind me, but there was nothing I could do but register the awareness that someone else had been in the room all along. Another pinprick sank into my upper arm, and everything faded back to black.

 

 

 

"I've been waiting for your call," Victoria said, and she sounded a tad annoyed. "I've had no way to get in touch with you to explain."

"It's been four and a half hours," T replied, equally irritated.

I shook my head, squinting at the low light. T was standing over the vidphone, his hands braced on the desk. Victoria glanced past him at me, and I could only stare at her, too fuddled mentally by the drug. Whatever they were giving me, it was one I hadn't had before. I thought of T's comment about his daughter, and cursed my ill luck. Was it Felicia? Not Lola... and then I thought of the search on my records, and my drug testing history at the clinic. Felicia might have known about my role during the war, but there was no way she would have known to which drugs I was resistant, and to which I was susceptible—and the list to which I was resistant was considerably longer than those which would put me under.

One lousy case of bronchitis, I growled mentally. Was that really enough to bring down my sisters' house of cards?

"Five million, four hundred thousand credits is a bit much to gather together in merely four hours," Victoria explained. She flicked her blonde hair behind her ears and leaned back in her chair. There was a window behind her, showing the cultured gardens of L4 in the colony's late afternoon. "I've only managed to gather a third. It'll be at least another eight hours before I can move enough monies to complete your request."

"The price will go up, the longer you take," T warned.

"I had three months to gather the funds when dealing with the officers," Victoria snapped. "The least you could do is afford me some minor courtesy when demanding three times that amount of money. I rearrange the funds much more, and the stockholders will notice. Then your money will be tracked down and taken back."

T shook his head. "I'll give you a bit more incentive, then," he said, in a mocking tone. Before I could react, he raised his arm, turned, and fired.

The bullet hit me in the shoulder.

I sat up straight, pain blossoming in my chest. I couldn't breathe, couldn't see, could only make a choking sound from the agony flooding my body. My head fell forward, but the tape binding kept me from curling around the injury. I breathed through my nose, unable to get enough oxygen, and the room spun. I squeezed my eyes tight, and everything was red in my eyelids.

The bullet was lodged against my shoulder blade, I guessed, or perhaps buried in the chair. I couldn't tell. It was all a screaming pain, a bloody ache, an agony behind being stabbed, and  _that_  had been hell.

Slowly I regained my senses, training coming to the forefront. I raised my head, glaring at T. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me faint from the pain. Victoria, to her credit, hadn't screamed, though she'd paled. I saw her mouth my name.

"Four more hours," T said, and cut the connection. A minute later the desk lamp clicked off, and I waited until I'd heard three sets of footsteps leave the room.

Then, and only then, did I let the tears fall. It hurt like a fuckin' bitch, but what hurt more was that there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

 

 

 

I don't know how long I was out, but when I regained awareness, the room was dark again. It was only me and the seeping pain of blood pouring down my chest, oozing into a thickened crust on the jacket. I didn't move; I even breathed shallowly, from my gut, to keep from moving my shoulder too much. Every wince made my body throb. My throat was sore, as if from screaming, but I'd yet to make a sound.

Was this it? No, I knew, I wouldn't die. Not here, not in some dark room.

No, I realized, that wasn't the question I was asking.

Was this the moment that I realized I was truly alone? No back up—no one was coming for me. Victoria would pay the money, as a blood-debt, and expect me returned, alive if not in one piece. I'd not been in one piece since the war. Zero was irrelevant; I'd been fractured way before that.

I was calm, strangely, and it felt like watching Sandrock's door open. The destruction countdown had begun. All that was left was to wait, or to follow the guidelines laid down before me. Almost fatalistically, I reviewed my life, but not in some fantastic, methodical manner. I simply thought, and knew, and was aware.

I loved Duo. I had injured him, by sleeping with Heero. I had done it for love of Heero, and for envy of Duo. It was both and the same, and ironic that my resentment of Duo's success mirrored his jealousy of my birthright. I took out that notion, turned it around, and decided I could live with my actions, or die with them.

I loved Wufei. He'd been the passion, the fire. When my cutthroat coolness had decided one path, he'd gone off like a blazing rocket after his own goals. I didn't always understand nor agree, but I respected his integrity.

I loved Heero. His strength, his stupid idealism, his willingness to keep believing despite everything else telling him to give up, to lie down, to accept defeat. Even in the face of his own wish for a silent, peaceful end, he found the will to keep fighting.

Above all, I loved Trowa. I would probably always love Trowa.

It didn't make sense, to realize such simple things, yet it did, at the same time. My thoughts tumbled over each other, washing back and forth across me like waves on a shore, moving with the pain advancing and receding across my body with each breath. I had alternately been callous, cruel, arrogant, distant, and uncaring with each, but still I loved them. I cared for Jamie, and I cared for Lola, but it wasn't the same. Maybe someday, with enough years, I would love Lola or Jamie so intensely, but I would never truly understand them, nor them me.

And I realized that was okay.

Maybe they weren't supposed to. Maybe not letting someone know me, inside and out, was just part of the way it worked. My shoulder throbbed, and I choked back a laugh; it would have shaken my chest, and I didn't think I'd stay conscious through that pain. All this time, wanting someone to know me, to love me for me, and maybe that just wasn't the point.

Lola had been right. Maybe the real secret to a friendship was knowing that someone could know—could ask—could discover—the truth of me, and trusting the answers would come. Maybe trusting meant not having to ask, and letting the information come freely, in its own time, if ever.

Blood pooled in my lap, in the crook of my thigh and hip. I knew that T had missed the major artery, if I was still alive. I'd hurt for a while, but with proper medical care, I'd survive. Hell, even without it, I might still survive. Gundam pilots were a tough lot, both by selection and design, and I wasn't about to claim the title of weakest pilot—not yet. Not after everything I'd been through, in war  _and_  peace.

I didn't want to be the poor little rich boy, held for ransom, and here I was. I didn't want people to know me because they wanted something from me, but I'd done my best to push away the four people who would never see me as a source of money.

Three years before, Sandrock's cockpit door had opened; beckoning me to reconsider the path I'd chosen. If bleeding to death was another form of destruction, at least I could let it come with a clear mind. I couldn't find anyone to talk to—and I couldn't remove the tape across my mouth even if a confessor had been present—but I could straighten things out in my own head, as fuzzy and pain-fogged as it was.

I didn't want to be in business. I didn't want money to be the deciding factor in my days and nights. When I was fourteen, I met the Maganacs, and they changed my life, becoming stars by which I set my course. When had I forgotten their example?

Maybe, I told myself, staring into the darkness, it was time to see those stars again. To remember their promise, their oaths: to protect and uphold their brotherhood, and to fight for peace.

I had my own brotherhood. I'd been wrong to think I had to survive on my own, to make my own way independent of them. Heero had been right. I could have both, and I desperately wanted to laugh at my own stupidity. It was not a failing to lean on the only ones who could support me.

It reminded me of something Wufei had said, once. His words had made Duo gape, and then laugh for nearly ten minutes straight at the deadpan delivery.

"Good friends," Wufei had said, quite gravely, "are friends you can call at two in the morning and tell them you've killed someone." He paused, and then added reflectively, "but  _true_  friends are those who show up at your house with a shovel, no questions asked."

I could only wish my friends were on their way, shovels in hand.

 

 

 

I woke up to find T on the vidphone, again with Victoria. It seemed I'd missed the opening parries, but he shone a flashlight on me, and Victoria murmured something I didn't catch.

"Three million," T said, and sounded approving. "Took you seven hours. Fine, then, you have five to get the rest."

"I will do my—"

T cut off the line, and my head swayed, falling to my chest. Every muscle ached from being in the chair; my legs were asleep and I couldn't feel my hands. Blood loss, the drugs, the stress, and it was like undergoing the worst of the deprivation tests during training. I just had to bear it without resorting to screaming my lungs out.

"Well, Mister Winner," T said, leaning over me, "your sister plays nice. But she's taking a long time at this."

"Five million's a lot, even for that family," S commented, behind T. "Long as she can't find us, we're cool."

T chuckled, and the two left the room. I sighed, flinching as the deep breath made the throbbing ache shoot down my chest. I wasn't sure of the exact lengths, but T hadn't let my sister stay on the phone for longer than thirty seconds at a stretch. Even with the technology Preventers had, there was no way to track a call if my kidnappers routed the call different each time. There was no way Preventers could possibly pick up where the previous call's tracking had left off, since each time the originating node would be in a different place.

Please, I moaned silently, please let Lola have gotten away, long enough to call Wufei. He'd make sure the local Preventers took Lola seriously, listened to what she said. I doubted she'd gotten a look at the van, and I didn't expect her to have caught the license plate number. Hell, I could barely remember what the van looked like, myself. I just had flashes of memory, and most of it was beginning to gloss over the edges from the pain of the gunshot wound.

I faded back into darkness, accepting the blindness with relief.

 

 

 

"Hold still," a voice whispered. "This is going to hurt."

I blinked, and tried to raise my head, but a hand smoothed across my jacket, running over the blood-caked wound. Pain arced through me, and I know I nearly cried out, but for the gag on my mouth.

"Shhh," the voice said. "Hold on, bro, the cavalry's on its way. You just hang in there."

I managed to lean my head to the side, rubbing my cheek against my shoulder, trying to get the tape off. Nimble fingers caught at the edge of the tape, and a whisper warned me before slowly prying the tape back.

It hurt; it hurt like a damned bitch, but less than being shot, at least.

I gasped, whimpering when the deep breaths made my chest throb. Hands gripped me by the shoulder, holding me in place.

"Just sit tight," the voice told me. It was deep, firm, and confident, but there was an air of anxiety that made me hold my tongue and listen closely. "I'm not going to start cutting at the rest of you without a light, so hang in there."

"D... Duo?" My voice was hoarse, and dry.

"Who else?" He sounded amused, and I realized he had to be crouching behind the chair. His mouth was at my ear.

"I'm sorry," I said, and coughed a little. It took me a second to breath through the pain in my chest. "I'm sorry," I said, again, and hands touched my hair, smoothing back the sweat-damp strands.

"I know," he said.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," I said, low and rough, just barely a whisper. "It's just... you do everything well, and right. I wish I could be like you... "

"Like me?" A disbelieving chuckle sounded in my ear. "No, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Look at Heero... he won't even look me in the eye, now. Would you really want to be someone who loved and lost?"

"I already am, three times over," I said. "I screwed up."

"You're not perfect, y'know," Duo said, and his hands slipped around me, cradling me around the waist. His chin rested on my good shoulder, his breath a warm reality against my neck. "You try so hard to do everything perfectly, to be what everyone expects, and you don't need to. Not for us."

My father's words came back to me, some comment he'd made when I was a child. I repeated them, and felt utterly stupid when Duo chuckled again, so low it was only a vibration against my body.

"The golden boy? What are you, the sun, to shine your warmth and light across us all?" Duo shook his head, his chin digging into my shoulder. "We aren't your satellites, hurtling through space around the glory of your being, and don't you ever think you're the sole source of our light."

"I didn't mean," I started to mutter, but Duo shushed me again.

"That's not to say you don't bring us light," Duo replied, contemplative. He shrugged, and I could feel the movement in his arms around me. "We reflect it on each other, but the peace we brought is the real sun, I think."

"You're a closet philosopher," I said, and coughed again. "My throat is dry."

"We'll get you water as soon as Wufei and Heero and Trowa have cleaned house," Duo replied. One of his hands found its way to my brow, and he smoothed the hair back again. I sighed, closing my eyes against the darkness, but his light remained in my awareness. "I've stopped moving, so they know your location. Transmitter... damn nifty thing," he gloated. "And if anyone comes through that door,  _I_  didn't make no stupid oath not to kill," he added, a bit darkly.

"Of course," I replied, chuckling quietly. "Use me as your shield."

"You're handy that way," he said.

"Thanks."

"Anytime. I'd do the same for you, y'know."

"I do," I told him, and it was true.

We were startled by the sound of gunshots, a rapid fire of blasts coming from somewhere in the building. I laughed, but it was a both a cough and a whimper, as the pain lanced down my spine from the gunshot.

"Well, now," Duo drawled. "Looks like the party's beginning." Something clicked, and one of his arms moved to rest on my shoulder. I knew his gun was cocked and ready, pointing at the room's entrance.

"How can you see?"

"Night goggles," he replied, and gave a breathless laugh. "These are pretty damn cool, actually. Man, to think of the damage I could've done if G had let me have these, instead of sending me in with just a handful of grenades... "

" ...And one big-ass mecha," I added.

"Minor detail," he admitted. Duo turned, and his nose brushed my cheek. "Man, Quatre, I don't ever want to lose you. You're not my sun, and you're no golden boy, but my world would still be colder without you."

"Poetic," I whispered.

"And true."

He kissed me on the cheek, and his right hand went back to running through my hair. His left arm remained on my shoulder, ready to defend, and we listened to the sound of running footsteps, shouts, and gunfire.


	15. Chapter 15

My mouth was still dry, when I opened my eyes, and it took a minute for me to realize I was staring at a ceiling. I shifted, and nothing hurt—too much, that was. My right arm was in a sling, and my shoulder was bandaged. There was an IV in my left arm; it drizzled cold into my veins and made me want to shiver. I wasn't wearing much more than a blue hospital robe and a thin blanket. It wasn't enough.

"Cold?"

Wufei was leaning against the wall, over by the window. There were a number of machines around him, beeping and listing various outputs in green on black. The window reflected us both, and I grimaced at how worn and tired I looked.

"Yeah," I said. "And thirsty."

I expected him to get a nurse, but he surprised me by opening a cabinet under the window and pulling out a blanket. Wufei spread it over me, then retrieved a cup of water from the side table. Holding the straw so I could sip, he waited until I waved the fingers of my left hand.

"I feel like crap," I told him.

"You should. You were shot."

"I was hoping that was just indigestion from too much rich food." My head itched, and it took some wrangling to get my left hand free so I could raise it. I yawned, and closed my eyes for a minute while Wufei pulled a chair up closer.

"You've been waiting for me to wake up?" I opened my eyes, turning my head to see him regarding me with an exhausted, but amused, expression.

"And playing guard," he replied. "You're tired."

"Guard from what?"

"Those three." Wufei jerked his head towards the door, and I knew exactly whom he meant.

"Lola... did you talked to her?"

"Yeah." Wufei rubbed his forehead. "I got her call, but no details before I think she threw the phone away." He looked away, troubled. "We found her in the basement. Beat-up, and drugged."

"Did they... "

"No." Wufei shook his head.

"Shit." I snorted. "Look at me, I'm happy that she was only beaten up, and not raped, too."

"Be thankful for the little things," Wufei replied. "She's alive."

"Yeah." We were quiet for a moment, and I managed to scratch the end of my nose and felt immensely grateful that I could. "Well," I started, then sighed. "I owe you."

"Not at all." Wufei's gaze was level. "I don't need to say it, do I?"

"No." I smiled, just a little. "So what's up with the guarding?"

"Let's just say there's a bit of tension," Wufei said, blandly.

"Fuck."

"Don't even try and say it's all your fault." He arched an eyebrow, and I made an attempt at shaking my head.

"No... if you're talking about what I think you're talking about, it took both of us." I stared at the ceiling, rather than look at his impassive expression. "I don't know why, really, we... but I guess whatever happens, I'll deal with it."

"We all will," Wufei said, shrugging. "Who do you think Heero talked to, when he came back?"

I shot a quick glance at Wufei, but he was staring off at the banks of instruments.

"I shouldn't keep you too long," he added, quieter. "You nearly bled to death. You almost single-handedly wiped out the hospital's stores of O-positive. Of course you'd have to have the rarest blood type," he sniffed.

"Hell, yeah." I tried to ignore the thought of nearly dying, and shrugged with my good shoulder. "One more notch on the bedpost for not-dying despite someone's best attempt."

"Yeah." He stood, and looked me over carefully. "Are you up to visitors?"

"Send them in," I replied. "I'll let you know when I've hit my limit."

"You'll get them one at a time," Wufei said. He narrowed his eyes at the door. I sensed someone was hovering in the doorway, but I couldn't see around the corner. Wufei nodded, and Duo stepped through, looking abashed. Wufei snorted. "Maxwell, I said... "

"We drew straws," Duo retorted. "And no blood, either."

"Hmph," Wufei said, and stalked out.

Duo nearly pasted himself against the wall as Wufei passed, then grinned at Wufei's back. He turned to me, and his smile faltered.

"Sorry we didn't get there sooner," he said, his eyes lowered.

"Sit down," I told him. "I'm the one who should be apologizing."

"Qua—"

"No, for everything," I insisted. "For calling you and just leaving you hanging, for picking fights, and for... for Heero."

"I had a lot of time to think about it, while we waited on the word from the doctors," Duo whispered. He settled into the chair Wufei had vacated, and reached out, wrapping his hands around my free hand. "Your skin is like ice," he said, chafing lightly. He didn't look up, and I noticed his braid was pulled forward, swaying a little as he moved. "I realized... when I saw Heero a few weeks after you two... " Duo shrugged, his brow furrowed. "This is going to sound stupid, but he was at peace. And... I guess I finally decided that if anyone was going to give him that, I'd rather it be one of you four, and not some stranger who wouldn't realize just how... " Duo's voice cracked, and he paused and swallowed hard. "How much he... "

I couldn't think of what to say.

"I know... " Duo stared down at our joined hands. "I know you'd not throw him away. I'm sorry I said... "

"I know." I squeezed his hand, gently. "I'm still sorry we hurt you. It wasn't what I wanted... I thought a lot about it, too. For better or worse, I realized the one thing on my mind was... " I sighed, and was amazed when Duo didn't pull away. It gave me a bit of hope, and the strength to be honest. "I just wanted him to be happy. I didn't know what else I could do, and it... My turn to sound stupid, saying it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You sound like Trowa, now." Duo's voice held the barest hint of teasing, but I groaned.

"Trowa... man... " I closed my eyes. "I don't know if I can face him. Not after the way I've behaved, and then what I did... "

Duo snorted. "I think he was angrier at Heero for using you."

"Using—?" I blinked.

"Like I said before, it's not always rational, is it." Duo's grin was crooked.

We were both quiet for several minutes, and Duo stared down at our hands. His thumbs continued to make little circles on my palm and the back of my hand. It was soothing; it was Duo—movement and yet stillness at the same time.

"What excitement did I miss?" I poked a finger into Duo's palm to get his attention.

"You passed out when we started to undo you, and get you onto the stretcher, but you came to when we got you outside. You don't remember?"

"Not much. Just random bits."

"You were annoyed I couldn't tell you what happened to Lola," Duo said, and winked. "She's okay, by the way."

"Wufei told me." I grinned.

"Bet he didn't tell you that he ripped the entire building apart looking for her, did he?" Duo rolled his eyes. "When Heero and Trowa found out why, they went ballistic on the guys they'd taken into custody. Trowa said she's, uh, your girlfriend or something?"

"No, just a good friend," I said. "Wufei went on a rampage, hunh."

"You know how those three are about civilians," Duo said.

There was a tap at the door, and Wufei appeared around the corner. "Five minutes are up, Maxwell. Clear out."

Duo winked at me, and got up. "I'll see you in the morning," he promised. He waved a hand at Wufei, nonchalantly, over his shoulder, and left.

A few minutes later, Heero stepped through the door, and Wufei watched until Heero had sat down. I raised my eyebrows, but Wufei was already gone, looking irritated.

"Since when did  _he_  become some kind of frickin' mother hen?" I made a disgusted face.

"Since he decided the rest of us are idiots who can't find our way out of an emotional paper bag with night goggles and a pick-ax," Heero replied, deadpan.

"Actually... " I smirked. "That's pretty accurate for me, at least."

Heero nodded, and stared at me for several moments before looking away.

"Heero," I said, softly. "Do you... Duo told me you wouldn't look him... I know he's starting to forgive but I don't... " I sighed.

"Quatre," Heero replied, with just a trace of irritation. "It will all work out, but not by hammering at it. In the meantime, I need to try again."

"Try again at... "

"Being me," Heero said, and nodded firmly. He was staring at the dark window, watching our reflections. He snorted. "Last time you were run through with something, I don't recall visiting you. I was not the best friend I could have been, after all you did for me."

I said nothing. It was true, but at the same time, it wasn't. And he knew it as well as I did. I may have put him together after I destroyed Mercurius, but he put me together just as much after Zero.

"We learn as we go," I finally said.

"I think I want to go to school, too," Heero whispered.

"What would you study?" I accepted his shift in thoughts without qualm; I suspected things were getting too close to the bone for my private friend.

"History, I think," he replied. "There's a program in Asia, at one of the universities, that's supposed to be excellent. But I'd have to leave Preventers... so I'm not sure."

"Work your way through school?" I grinned, slyly. "I don't know if you'd make a good doorman, though. Maybe you should try waiting tables."

Heero glared, but the look didn't have half its usual heat. "I was thinking of working in a library."

That caught me totally off-guard. "A library... you mean like with books?"

"No, the kind with empty shelves."

I grunted, and raised an eyebrow.

Heero shrugged, and gave me a shy smile. After a heartbeat, I returned it, and we sat there in quiet companionship until Wufei came to escort Heero out. A minute later he returned with Trowa, and I was seriously tempted to say I'd hit my limit. But I couldn't do that. I'd done enough damage already.

Trowa settled into the chair, and I considered making a crack about being Grand Central Station, but he looked too exhausted for me to be so callous. His hair was dirty, and there were a few smudges on his cheeks, and a bruise. One of his sleeves was bulkier, and I wondered if there were bandages under there.

He didn't say anything, and I couldn't quite look him in the eye. He shifted in the chair, and exhaled slowly. I thought he was about to speak, but he said nothing, and I couldn't find the words, either.

We remained there, for several minutes, both of us studiously looking elsewhere. Then Wufei strode into the room, with an expression like he was going to punch Trowa.

"Well?" Wufei stood over Trowa, his arms crossed.

Trowa simply nodded, and Wufei rolled his eyes, leaving again.

"He's really taking this seriously," I whispered, awed.

"Yeah." Trowa gave me a tiny smile. "I think he's secretly enjoying getting to boss us around, though."

"Fear the self-righteous," I replied, risking a smile of my own.

"He's been a bystander to all of it," Trowa said, and his smile faded. "About that... about every—"

"I don't really want to talk about it," I interrupted. "It's not that I don't... I know we should. But I just... I feel wiped already, and I... I just... " I gave up. I didn't know how to put it. I just wanted to be with him, and for a few moments, let that be enough.

"We all screwed up," Trowa said, still staring off towards the end of the bed. I turned my head to look at him, but he didn't look my way; his long bangs covered the side of his face and I could only make out the edge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the movement of his lips. Trowa's mouth was open a little as he breathed, choosing his words as carefully as he ever had. "Coming to talk to you about Duo was cruel of me."

"You didn't know how I felt," I pointed out.

"I'd never asked."

"That's irrelevant."

"I don't... " He huffed, but still didn't look my way. "I'm trying to apologize."

"There's no need," I said, and closed my eyes, too tired to handle much more of him refusing to look at me. "Seems to me the worst is still on my end of the scales. After everything I did to you... during the war... and now... " I sighed. "I can't believe you'll still even talk to me. Hell, I can't believe  _any_  of you will."

"Of course I'll still talk to you," Trowa said, and his voice held affection, but I didn't open my eyes. "If I could forgive you for going crazy in Zero, this is nothing."

"It's not nothing. Don't—"

"Quatre," Trowa said, but kindly. "Shut up. Get some rest. I forgive you. The question is, will you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, not now," I said.

I heard him stand, and I still didn't open my eyes. It was warm, and I was tired, and my body ached in a dull throb. Something rustled near me, and then lips were pressed against my forehead. I opened my eyes to see him smiling down at me. I could only stare, shocked.

"I just want you to be happy," I told him.

"That's always been your reason for everything," he murmured, and ran a hand through my hand, brushing a few strands out of my eyes. "I know that."

"I didn't do a very good job," I muttered.

"No." His lips quirked up, just barely, at the edges. "But you'll always get a second chance with me."

"I'm on my eighth chance, I think," I said, my eyes slipping closed.

I could hear someone approaching—light steps, but an even pace, so not Duo. Probably Wufei, I figured, relaxing into sleep as knuckles brushed over my cheek. It wasn't until both sets of footsteps left the room that I woke long enough to realize that perhaps Trowa had meant something else entirely with his last words.

 

 

 

I woke up in the morning to find a nurse checking over the equipment. When she realized I was awake, she let me have a few sips of water and peeled back the top blanket for me. My body temperature was coming up, and the blankets over me were getting to be oppressive. She raised the top of the bed up so I could stare at the wall, instead, and pointed out the remote for the television, but I wasn't interested.

The last thing I wanted was to watch the news, and find out just how it had all rolled out. Having the Preventers show up on site, guns blazing—when two of the guns were in the hands of non-Preventers, on top of that—well, I just couldn't see the media letting that one go by.

"Mister Winner?" A soft voice broke me out of my reverie, and I looked up to see a young woman standing near the foot of my bed. She smiled, a bit weakly, and waved with a few fingers. "Hi. I'm, uh, I'm Cindy. I... "

She seemed familiar, and then I realized. "You're from the clinic. Your father... "

"Yeah. I... I wanted to apologize," Cindy said, lowering her head. She wrung her hands against her stomach. "After that first time you were in the clinic, I was home visiting a week or so after that, and my mom was pestering me about meeting someone so... " Her quick rush of words slowed to a reluctant pace. "I... I told my parents I'd met  _you_. My dad used to talk about you, after the war, and I guess I'd always thought he admired you or something. I thought he'd be like, impressed or something."

I continued to stare at her, impassive.

"And he... like a week after that, he came to school, and visited me at work," she continued, her voice growing softer. "He wanted to see where I worked, and what I did, and he took me for lunch and I thought it was like he was finally, y'know, doing the father-daughter thing and he  _wasn't_ , I guess it was something to do with you... " She made a choking sound, as if struggling to keep her composure. One hand crept up and she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Cindy," I said, but couldn't think of what else to say. I was too busy paying attention, for maybe the first time in too long. She felt apprehensive, and nervous, and utterly remorseful, but also bewildered, with a great deal of hurt. I could see it, too, in the line of her neck and shoulders, the shaking in her hands, and the quiet sniffling. She was trying to walk a fine line: apologize without condemning her father. I didn't envy her. I sighed, and managed a smile. "I understand."

She glanced at me quickly, then away. "I'm really sorry," she whispered again, and fled.

I stared at the wall opposite for a long time, thinking about parents and children and what it means to love someone and what it means to hate someone and the things we do when we don't know the difference. Little of it had to do with Cindy's father, or his greedy wish for hush money, and perhaps that was some form of revenge, or maybe money was the only reason. But Cindy and her explanation was enough to make me think, to go back to the thoughts I'd had while feeling the blood drip down my jacket into my lap.

When Wufei came to see me at noon, I told him what I'd decided.

 

 

 

My sisters didn't pay the hush money, opting instead to argue for releasing details to the public. Duo was well known on L2, and was probably the least affected by the entire debacle. Heero's role in the Mariemaia Incident had been covered extensively, though his personal history was still blank to most of the media. The circus world was fully aware of Trowa's involvement, and the few remaining members of Wufei's clan had always known of his role. Mine was the only one that had been shut down and covered up so completely.

It made returning to school in the fall a bit of an experience, since this time I didn't have the cover of anonymity. On the positive side, the gangs in the area around campus suddenly found other places to be when I was out for a walk. It amused me, especially since my shoulder wasn't healed yet, and half the time my walks were to a physical therapist to work out the last of the kinks.

Victoria held true to her agreement; no more money came my way from the family, and I had three more years to finish my degree. I could have tested out of a number of classes and finished earlier, had I chosen engineering, but I'd decided on something else. I went after it with everything I had.

Heero didn't go off to university, and we never discussed it again, but he did seem to express a great deal of curiosity about the classes at the university. Wufei made monthly treks to see me at school, and the day he showed up to find I'd moved into a more secure apartment—with a sofa bed for guests—I wasn't sure to laugh or roll my eyes at his pleased look.

Lola was in physical therapy for a great deal longer than I; the beating had been severe, plus she'd torn several tendons from a fall when the two men jumped her. Trowa sent me tickets to the circus—not his, but a friend's—and I took Lola. We didn't have our fancy clothes, but we pretended, and it was just as much fun.

Jamie cooled off considerably when he found out I was a Gundam pilot. There were too many things in his past, as a soldier with the Alliance, and I guess where he could handle me being rich, he couldn't handle me being the former enemy. It hurt, for a while, and then I had to let it go.

There were others on campus who felt the same way as Jamie, but Felicia, Chip, Lisa and Lola seemed to delight in running interference. And what harassment they couldn't prevent sure halted the day Heero and Wufei rolled into town for a week. I suspect the three of us strolling across campus was enough to make most people decide a wide berth was a good survival instinct.

My sophomore year passed; for the following summer, I interned. It sounded exciting on paper, but in reality it meant doing a lot of filing and a lot of cleaning up after the mentoring team.

Wufei's rule continued to be upheld. None of us dated each other, nor did we entertain the notion. Time, he'd counseled, and we agreed, just as we all sighed and nodded when he also informed us that there was to be no more discussing our sex lives with the rest of the pilots. Duo cracked later that Wufei was sick of hearing that other people were getting laid, but I know he knew the truth as well as I did. Wufei had lost, and learned from it, and he was just trying to help us learn the same lesson, in his own bullheaded way.

Trowa had moved into management with the circus, but the way he kept dragging me to the Zoo every time he visited told me his heart wasn't in performing with animals, but in studying them.

Junior year, my friends were graduated and gone, but I had a small assortment of new friends from my department. Duo was done with school, and working for a company on L4, but he came to visit me every few months, alternating with the rest of the group. They were pretty good about warning me, to make sure I'd have time off work.

Except Trowa. When he visited, he still never thought to call ahead.

 

 

 

 _"Quatre!" The girl at the desk practically falls over her companion to throw herself around the table and into his arms. "Oh my god, you_ made _it!"_

"Of course, of course," Quatre says, hugging her tightly. He pulls away, and runs his hand through her hair, tugging a little at the elegant braid, twisted into a stylish knot. "Got rid of the red, I see."

_Lola beams. "It's bothersome. And I don't mind being a blonde, now." She turns, waving to someone. "I want to you to meet Tim." She winks. "I had to bribe his boss to force Tim to take time off, but this time we're all here!"_

_Quatre accepts a badge with his name and year of graduation, noting other people checking in, with years before and after his. He's just finished pinning the badge on when a man carrying a small child—and a second one clinging to his leg—joins Lola._

_"Tim, Quatre, Quatre, Tim," Lola says, and leans down to pick up the older child. At six, he's just a little too big, but he wraps himself around Lola and glares at Quatre. "Alex, this is Quatre. Say hello, Alex."_

_Alex glares and buries his face in Lola's neck._

_Lola rolls her eyes. "He found the pictures from when we pinned you down and made you pull up your shirt... " She eyes Quatre's chest, and grins wickedly. "So, you still... "_

_Quatre flushes. He knows it, and Lola laughs. Tim shakes his head._

_"You'll have to excuse Caroline," he said. "She just gets the biggest kick out of knowing she helped corrupt the head of the Earth Sphere's peace-keeping organization."_

_"Caroline, hunh," Quatre says, and grins. "Yeah, well, watch yourself,_ Caroline _, because I know a few things about you, too."_

 _Tim laughs, and pulls Alex off his mother. "You two visit. I'm going to catch some of_ my _classmates."_

_Quatre realizes Tim's wearing a badge, from several years before his class. He raises his eyebrows at Lola, but she just grins and puts a finger to her lips. Accepting the sleeping two-year old from Tim, she leads Quatre into the large ballroom._

 

 

 

My senior year, I began putting my plan into action. I kept my mouth shut, and did my homework, and saved up money for a good suit. I told no one of what I intended, although the other pilots knew my course of study.

Duo bawled me out over the phone when I told him I'd opted out of the graduation ceremony. When I reminded him that he'd done the same, he insisted it was different. I just told him what date to be on L4, and ended the call before he could ask any questions. He was the hardest to get a hold of, now that he was working on a major project, and the last I told.

I flew out of Chicago on a tourist shuttle, the cheapest flight I could afford. My bag held nothing more than a stack of papers I'd meticulously gathered, a change of clothes, a copy of my diploma, and the letter detailing the job I'd begin when I got back to Earth. Everything else I owned was packed and on its way to Brussels. It wouldn't get there overnight at the cheap rates I'd paid, but it'd get there.

Iria met me at the L4 shuttle, looking annoyed I'd not asked her for a Winner shuttle, but I deflected her curiosity easily. It was a diplomatic side step, but one I'd learned to handle after two years of dealing with a reputation. The taxi pulled up to the Winner headquarters, and Iria caught me chuckling.

"What?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"Just thinking how much I hated being political, until it was the only option left," I admitted. "On campus, I mean."

"You've grown up," she said. "I think even Victoria has to admit you're not a little boy any more."

I never was, I thought, but shrugged and smiled. It wasn't that I was a little boy. It was that I was a man who'd wanted to be a little boy, and eventually I'd had to get over wanting that, and realize it was just as good to be a man.

Even if sometimes I wondered what might've happened between Trowa and I, had I told him sooner, had I not slept with Heero... but we'd followed Wufei's decision. We'd never discussed it. We five had fought since then, tensions running high sometimes, but somewhere in there, we'd changed. We could argue and fight, but nothing would come between us, not even the space we sometimes needed to cool off. And even my first year in school hadn't been enough to even threaten that; it was our own insecurities that made us doubt it.

I pushed away the pensive thoughts and followed Iria into the building, waiting patiently while the security guards checked my I.D. When we passed the receptionists and entered the interior lobby, the other pilots were waiting for me.

"Quatre, man, I'm going to kill Wufei if he doesn't stop looking smug," Duo burst out. He scowled at Wufei and spun to jab a finger at me. "Spill!"

"Ignore him," Heero said, and rolled his eyes. "Ignore them both."

"Wufei doesn't know any more than you do," I assured Duo, and grinned. "He's just doing that to annoy you."

"It's working!"

Trowa didn't bother to stand, but just smirked at me.

"Come on, gentlemen," I said, heading towards the largest conference room. It wasn't far from the entrance, and through the frosted glass I could see a number of women milling around. "We're heading into estrogen territory."

"I heard that," Iria called, and ducked through the conference room doors.

"Shit," Duo muttered. "You sure I can't wait out here?"

"You could, but you'd miss all the fun." I patted my bag, and Duo pouted for a minute. Heero nudged him from behind.

"Get out of the way, if you're not going in," Heero said.

"I'm going, I'm going," Duo replied, and scooted into the room just ahead of me.

The four of them took up ranks near the back, and I hid a smile at how much habits died hard. They'd all chosen positions where they could see the windows and all exits, preferring to remain leaning by the wall, ready to move at a moment's notice. None of us were big on dealing with crowds, thanks to our training, but I'd been working on my own coping mechanisms. It still took a deep breath or two before I moved to the head of the room. Twenty-one of my twenty-seven sisters had been able to make it; another fifteen or so people present were among the top stockholders and division heads.

I smiled calmly, and opened my bag. Lifting out my notes, I handed them to Iria, at my right, and motioned for her to hand the rest out.

"I'm not returning to Winner International Conglomerate," I announced.

"Quatre—" Victoria started to say, from her seat two down on my left.

"Let me finish." I smiled, waiting until she'd settled down, a slight frown on her face as she glanced briefly at the documents being handed to her.

"According to our father's will, I must remain head of the company. Careful study of his will, however, reveals that there is no designation for how long this must be, nor how end of leadership is determined. The assumption until now has been that I can only leave WIC upon my death, at which point it will be inherited by one of my children. Our father's will is clear that one of my children must inherit, but given remarks on page sixteen, paragraph three—which you'll see in the first page of your handout—there is implication that retirement is a respectable termination of leadership."

Iria blinked, flipping through the pages, and opened her mouth. I held up a hand. Several of my other sisters, that I knew less well, were looking back and forth between Victoria's puzzled frown, Iria's confusion, and Alayah's outright bewilderment. I spared a second to pity Alayah's dawning realization that I wouldn't be working for her again, and continued with my planned speech.

"Therefore, I have decided to retire, and cash in the standard family retirement package. And thus I'm hereby announcing that I am bequeathing leadership of WIC to my eldest child." I paused, just long enough to know I had their attention. Hell, even Trowa's chin was up, and he was staring at me fiercely, almost suspiciously. I didn't risk winking at him, but I wanted to. Instead, I let my gaze sweep across everyone present, and raised a hand to point at the person I named. "Victoria Winner."

The room was completely silent. No one moved, and I can honestly say that's the only time I've ever seen Victoria's mouth wide open and not because she's speaking. She was completely speechless.

"News flash, Quatre," Duo drawled from the back of the classroom. "But if you're saying you're her dad... that's not only gross, but kinda physically impossible."

Several people chuckled, and I shot Duo a quick grin. "If you'll turn to page seven, you'll see a list of employees on the payroll of WIC. Page eight are the bylaws and tax policies for L4, instituted after the colony's independence in the First Eve War. Page nine is a formal acknowledgement of my role as legal guardian for Victoria Winner, granted in an Earth court but filed in conjunction with the Supreme L4 Court." It had cost a bit to get that done quietly, but seeing Victoria  _still_  speechless made every penny worth it. "In case this isn't clear, the laws are simple. I own WIC, despite my sabbatical. Therefore, all money coming in and out, at the bottom line, consists of my profits and debts. According to law, if I contribute more than fifty percent of a person's income, I can claim them as a dependent. Therefore, as the person whose company pays for one hundred percent of Victoria Winner's expenses, I can claim her as my child on my taxes."

"That's ridiculous," one of the division heads retorted. "If that were true, every independent employer could claim their employees as children."

"Only if they're already related," I said, not missing a beat. "As Victoria and I are, I can invoke nepotism as justification for her salary."

Victoria blinked a few times. I think Zalia, to her right, was tempted to thump Victoria on the back, but even Zalia—one of Victoria's toughest sharks in the business world—wasn't going to risk losing her hand just to make sure Victoria was still breathing.

"In conclusion," I announced, "if you turn to pages ten, eleven, and twelve, there's a listing of the company's assets in A.C. 195, when I assumed ownership, placed against the company's holdings today. These holding have quadrupled in the past seven years. Following the precedent set by the only other member to retire from the company—our father's younger brother, twenty-six years ago—there's the amount I intend to take as my retirement fund."

Papers rustled, and I heard a few gasps. Heero looked around, annoyed, and in a flash he'd stepped forward and yanked a paper from someone's hands. The four pilots grouped around him, and Duo's head came up, looking at me in shock.

I grinned. If he were shocked then, he'd be floored in a half-hour.

 

 

 

Victoria came to just before I left the conference room. Her hands were flat against the surface of the table, and she looked up at me, her shock fading into something more akin to bewilderment. I smiled at her, and shrugged, and she blinked a few more times, then smiled. It wasn't a business smile; it wasn't a sisterly smile; it was something small, and sweet, and almost childlike in its vulnerability.

I'd told Trowa once that I just wanted to make the people around me happy. It'd taken me long enough to figure out how to do it without hurting them at the same time, but seeing that tiny smile on Victoria's face as she realized I'd just handed her everything she'd ever wanted...

That made it all worth it, I think.

 

 

 

"Crap." Duo leaned forward, until his nose was against the paper, then sat back with an explosive exhalation. "Crap. No, fuck. Yeah.  _Fuck_ , Quatre!"

"What?" I leaned back, clasping my hands behind my head, and gave him a lazy grin. "Did I not do the math properly?"

"You did, but... " Duo repeated the motion.

Trowa reached out, without looking, and smacked Duo on the back of his head. "Stop that. The number's not going to change."

"Can there really be that many zeros after something?" Heero's face was almost as much a picture as Victoria's had been.

We were in a side conference room, something smaller and more fitting for our smaller group. The last of my handouts were scattered across the table, but I hadn't bothered with a presentation. I'd just tossed out four copies and said, "We're sharing."

Trowa ran his fingers over the paper, for the third time.

Wufei's head was down, and for a second I thought he might be crying. But when he raised his face to look at me, he said nothing; his face was dry, though his eyes glittered dangerously.

"Crap," Duo muttered.

"Duo," Trowa warned.

"This is just unbelie...  _shit_!" Duo shook his head. "Man, there's no way I'm letting you give away this much money. I wouldn't know what to do with— is that a million? How many zeros is in a million?"

"A lot," Heero answered absently.

I realized he was counting under his breath, index finger moving slowly across the printout, and I stifled a smirk. Heero seemed to lose track on the page and had to start over, a fine line between his brows. Shock, I decided.

"I'm not just giving it away," I informed Duo. "We're family. Anything and everything I have is yours, and I know if our positions were reversed, you'd do the same for me."

"Yeah, but that's not the point!" Duo slammed a fist down on the table. "This is your family's—"

" _You're_  my family. You five. You were there way before I met any of them," I snapped, then relented, falling back into the chair. "I don't want to argue about it. I've set up a fund for myself that invests the bulk of my share, and I'll draw off the interest. If you want, I can show you what I did and you have that option, as well. Or you can take it all now, and do what you want with it. But you're my real family. And if I've inherited money, then the way I see it, it's only right that it be split among everyone in the family."

"You have the most peculiar logic," Trowa announced.

"Comes from hanging out with Duo," Heero said.

"Hey," Duo sputtered.

"I agree," Wufei added. "With both of them."

I grinned at Duo. "Looks like you're out-numbered. So. Anyone hungry?" I started to stand, and Trowa rose as well, but Duo remained where he was.

"What the hell are we going to do with all this money?" Duo's voice wasn't much more than a breath. When he raised his face to me, his eyes were large, his expression almost lost. "What are we... I don't... "

"Duo," I said, "do whatever you want with it. It's your inheritance, too."

"But... " Duo rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, and turned on Heero. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to school," Heero said. He glanced at me quickly, that flash of vulnerable blue from under his eyelashes, and his voice shook, just a little. "I'm going to study history."

"Oh." Duo turned to Trowa. "Are you going to school, too?"

"No," Trowa said. He stared down at the paper, then folded it neatly and tucked it away in his back pocket. "But I think I want to find out about starting a breeding program." The fact that he looked everywhere but at me spoke almost as loudly as his words. "Brussels doesn't have any good ones."

"Wufei?" Duo seemed to be hoping for something—perhaps, I realized, it was simply permission to let it be real.

"I think I want to travel," Wufei said, and stood up. He glanced at me, then away, raising his chin. "But first, Quatre suggested food, which means he's paying."

I groaned.

Duo stood up as well, folding the paper as precisely as possible. He was about to tuck it away when Heero caught him by the arm.

"What about you?" Heero smiled, shyly, but didn't let go. "Any ideas?"

"I wanted to go back to school, get my master's, but with my school loans... " Duo tightened his hold on the paper. "But they're pretty much paid off now, aren't they... So, school for me, too."

Heero let go of Duo's arm, but for a moment, the rest of us were transfixed at the smile shared between the two of them. That is, until Wufei snorted, rolled his eyes, and left the room.

"About time," I heard him muttering as he passed, but he sure looked smug to me.

 

 

 

_"Lisa and her boyfriend got here earlier, but I think they went back to their hotel to sleep. Lisa's working on shuttle design, now," Lola says. "Did you get the letter from Joe at Christmas?"_

_"Twins," Quatre says. Ahead, he can see Felicia waving madly. The young woman next to her is sitting quite close, and Quatre raises his eyebrows at the picture._

_"Quatre," Felicia says, hugging him when he gets close enough. "I brought pictures!" She produces a faded snapshot, and Quatre groans._

_"Not the ears," he says. Another photograph flashes by, and he shakes his head. "I burned that jacket. That was so tacky. I can't believe you talked me into buying it."_

_"Oh, it was adorable." Felica pretends to claw at Quatre, then stops, looking behind him with a confused expression._

_Quatre turns, and the first thing he notices is a badge. University of Chicago, A.C. 202, spouse. He grins, and raises his gaze to a pair of green eyes, crinkled with amusement._

_"Maybe I should leave you to your harem," Trowa says, his gentle tenor carrying quite easily to Lola and Felicia, who nod enthusiastically. Felicia's date looks confused. Trowa winks at her, and kisses Quatre hello._

_"Long trip?" Quatre puts his arm around Trowa, and turns to face his college friends. "Lola, you remember Trowa. Felicia, this is Trowa."_

_Felicia opens her mouth, looks at her date, and settles for smirking at Quatre. "Now I'm especially sorry I missed you at the five-year reunion," she says, shaking Trowa's hand._

_"Oh, we weren't married then," Trowa replies. "You might've still had a chance." He grunts, as Quatre elbows him lightly._

_"Wait," Lola says, leaning forward to peer at Trowa's badge. Her eyes go wide. "Spouse? When did this happen?"_

_"Two years ago," Quatre says, trying not to shuffle backwards under Lola's surprised and annoyed look. "It was a private kind of thing."_

_"I'll say," Lola sniffs. "So much for a wedding present from me."_

_Quatre grins, and settles into the warmth of Trowa's arm around his waist. Tim joins them a minute later with some of his friends, and they settle down around the table. When Lisa and her boyfriend arrive, there's some rearranging to make room, but eventually they all squeeze in._

_"Glad to see you brought someone, too," Lisa says, patting her boyfriend's shoulder. "Now Michael won't feel like there's no one to talk to." She leans past Michael, to poke Lola. "Did you bring the pictures?"_

_"Yeah," Lisa says, and digs around in her purse. She produces a photo album, and Quatre leans forward to bury his face in his hands._

_"I hope there's the picture of the time you and Felicia got wasted and—" He looks up to see Lola covering Alex's ears and looking horrified. Quatre winks at the boy, who's giving his mother an annoyed look. "Hey, Alex, come sit next to me and I'll tell you all about your mother," he whispers, sotto voce._

_"Quatre Winner," Lola says, pretending to be angry. "Don't you dare, or I'll tell your husband about the time we dared you to pick all the quarters out of the fountain in January." Naked, she mouths._

_"Don't bother," Quatre says. "Nothing you say can shock him. He already knows I'm not perfect."_

_"Not even close," Trowa whispers. His hand squeezes Quatre's knee, under the table, and Quatre grins, because it's true._


End file.
